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i. 

YESTERDAY,  TO-DAY,  AND  FOREVER.  A 
Poem  in  Twelve  Books.    12mo.    $200. 

ii  wMiirtnlnfl  ramaifcabta  In  these  latter  -lavs  to  find  the  world 
stirred  with  a  new  poem.  It  is  tiwmtthrng  wonderful  to  find  ordinary 
readers  perusing  for  hours  the  form  <>t  rene  which  has  not  the  charm  of 
<>f  themes  of  death  ami  lift  and  immortality,  the  upper 
and  nether  worlds,  and  enchained  through  the  whole  perusal.  Yet  all 
this  is  declared  of  'Yesterday,  To-day,  and  Forever;'  and  the  fame  of 
this  great  sacred  poem  is  assured.  Milton  has  many  admirers  —  and  so 
has  Dante — who  would  not  deem  their  book  collections  complete  without 
them,  and  yet  who  never  have  read  four  consecutive  pages  of  either.  But 
the  new  claimant  for  the  la  ml  these  wear  unchallenged  has  produced  a 
work  that  will  do  more  than  live :  it  will  be  read,  and  that,  too,  by  many 
who,  without  accepting  the  scheme  or  the  creed,  will  be  charmed  with  its 
marvellous  imagination,  its  wonderful  diction,  the  perfect  pictures  of  its 
poetical  visions."  —  Chicago  Republican, 

II. 

HADES  AND  HEAVEN;  or,  What  does  Scrip- 
tube  Reveal  of  the  Estate  and  Employments  op  the 
Blessed  Dead  and  the  Risen  Saints.  24mo,  gilt.  Price 
$1.00. 

nr. 

WATER  FROM  THE  WELL-SPRING  FOR  THE 
Sabbath  Hours  op  Afflicted  Believers.    16mo.    $1.00. 

IV. 
UN:    SPIRIT    OF    LIFE;    or,  Scripture  Testi- 

MONT  TO  THE   DlVINE   PERSON    AND   WORK    OF    THE    HOLT 

Ghost.    12mo.    $1.26. 


^Qg^jAHRitti^ 


15        0  C<U^(r^    /fj0 


THE   TWO    BROTHERS, 


&utj  ©tijer  poems* 


BY 

EDWARD   HENRY   BICKERSTETH,  M.A., 

AUTHOR  OF  M  YESTERDAY,  TO-DAY,   AND   FOREVER." 


4S 


^wU\ 


,  , 


NEW    YORK: 

ROBERT    CARTER   AND    BROTHERS, 

630  Broadway. 

1871. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

ROBERT  CARTER  AND  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


i «     < 


.  v  ::•*:  •..• 

.••  •    •  ••  •     2  •  •      • 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRE88  OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND   SON. 


This  volume  of  Poems  is  published  first  in  Amer- 
ica, that  a  copyright  may  be  secured  to  the  author 
on  all  the  American  sales. 

A  few  hours  before  Mr.  Bickersteth  sailed  for 
England,  on  his  return  from  his  brief  visit  to  this 
country  in  October  last,  an  excellent  photograph 
was  taken  by  Bogardus,  from  which  Ritchie  has 
engraved  the  lifelike  portrait  prefixed. 

ROBERT    CARTER    &   BROTHERS. 
New  York,  Jan.  18,  1871. 


PREFACE, 


My  very  grateful  sense  of  the  acceptance  which 
my  work,  "  Yesterday,  To-day,  and  Forever,"  has 
found  in  America,  —  a  gratitude  deepened  by  many 
personal  assurances  during  my  only  too  brief  visit 
to  that  noble  land  in  the  autumn  of  last  year, — 
induces  me  to  offer  the  following  Poems  to  the  kind 
perusal  of  my  friends  there.  They  have  been  writ- 
ten from  time  to  time  during  the  last  twenty-seven 
years,  and  have  many  of  them  appeared  in  print 
before  ;  but,  being  for  the  most  part  now  inaccessible 
to  friends  who  kindly  continue  to  ask  for  them,  I 
have  ventured  to  group  them  in  this  volume.  Some 
of  them  are  here  published  for  the  first  time.  The 
dates,  which  are  affixed  to  most  of  the  Poems,  will 
enable  the  reader  to  assign  the  lighter  pieces  to  my 
early  home  and  college  days.  May  He  who  directs 
the  wind-borne  seed  to  the  genial  soil  only  plant  a 
few  winged  words  in  some  hearts,  where  they  shall 
not  be  wholly   unfruitful,   and   my  hopes  will   be 

abundantly  fulfilled. 

E.  H.  B. 

Christ  Church  Vicarage, 

Hampstead,  1871. 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTICE. 


rriHE  name  of  Edward  Henry  Bickersteth  is 
as  a  household  word  in  a  great  number  of 
American  families.  Within  a  comparatively  brief 
period,  it  has  come  to  be  widely  known  and  sin- 
cerely loved  and  honored.  He  has  touched  the 
deeper  chords  of  many  hearts,  of  those  too  that  are 
most  in  sympathy  with  what  is  good  and  true  ;  and 
he  is  reaping  the  sure  reward. 

His  father,  the  Rev.  Edward  Bickersteth,  has 
been  long  and  favorably  known  to  the  religious 
public,  on  this  side  of  the  ocean,  as  one  of  the  most 
evangelical  preachers  and  authors  of  the  Church  of 
England.  He  was  one  of  that  constellation  which 
included  such  lights  of  the  Christian  firmament  as 
Newton,  Scott,  Venn,  Cecil,  and  others,  whose  writ- 
ings have  been  read  and  highly  esteemed,  not  only 
within  their  own  communion,  but  even  more  ex- 
tensively, it  is  probable,  by  the  Church  Catholic 
beyond  its  pale.  Would  that  men  of  like  spirit 
might  be  multiplied  in  all  branches  of  the  Christian 

family ! 

1* 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTICE. 


Edward  Henry  Bickersteth  exhibits  the  broad 
sympathies  and  deeply  religious  spirit  of  his  excel- 
lent father,  with  richer  gifts  of  genius.  He  was 
educated  at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  where  he 
was  distinguished  for  scholarship  and  taste,  and 
repeatedly  bore  off  the  first  prize  for  poetic  merit. 
He  now  holds  the  living  of  Hampstead,  London, 
and  the  Chaplaincy  to  the  Bishop  of  Ripon.  He 
is  just  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  of  polished  yet 
simple  manners,  frank  and  genial  in  spirit,  with  a 
face  that  seems  to  glow  with  active  thought  while 
suffused  with  the  serenity  of  goodness.  Its  expres- 
sion is  well  presented  in  the  engraving  which  is 
contained  in  this  volume.  In  his  late  transient  visit 
to  the  United  States,  he  charmed  all,  we  believe, 
who  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  in  private 
intercourse. 

Mr.  Bickersteth  became  somewhat  known  to 
American  readers,  several  years  since,  by  a  well- 
written  volume  exhibiting  the  teaching  of  the  Scrip- 
tures in  respect  to  the  person  and  work  of  Christ. 
Recently,  a  volume  similar  in  style  and  spirit,  on 
the  person  and  work  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  has  been 

ned  here.  Both  these  are  carefully  prepared  and 
valuable  treatises  on  the  important  subjects  they 
<li>cuss.  A  small  volume,  entitled  "Water  from 
the  Well-Spring,"  has  also  been  published;  consist- 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTICE.  xi 

ing  of  pure  and  excellent  thoughts  founded  on  texts 
of  Scripture,  and  arranged  in  portions  for  every 
Sabbath  in  the  year.  A  still  smaller  book,  entitled 
"  Hades  and  Heaven,"  and  relating  to  the  state  and 
employments  of  the  blessed  dead,  has  likewise  been 
reproduced.  These  prose  works  are  all  able  and 
instructive,  and  worthy  of  a  place  in  any  Christian 
library.  Other  works,  including  something  in  the 
form  of  a  commentary,  have  come  from  the  same 
prolific  pen. 

But  it  is  chiefly  by  his  great  epic  poem,  "Yester- 
day, To-day,  and  Forever,"  that  Mr.  Bickersteth  has 
become  known  to  the  world,  and  has  won  so  warm 
a  place  in  many  hearts,  both  in  England  and  America. 
This  work,  when  first  published  in  this  country, 
attracted  but  little  notice  and  sold  but  very  slowly. 
Its  author  had  not  before  been  heard  of  among  us  as 
a  poet.  It  has  become  so  much  the  fashion,  in  this 
hurrying  age,  to  be  best  pleased  with  what  is  short, 
that  an  epic  in  twelve  books,  and  on  a  sacred  sub- 
ject too,  stood  little  chance  of  being  attended  to, 
even  to  the  extent  necessary  for  the  discovery  of  its 
real  character.  When  by  mere  accident  it  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  present  writer,  and  he 
had  read  it  through  attentively,  he  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  its  freshness,  power,  and  beauty.  He 
at  that  time   expressed  a  favorable  opinion  of  it, 


Xll  INTRODUCTORY   NOTICE. 

in  a  brief  notice  published  in  the  "  Independent," 
from  which  he  will  venture  to  quote  the  follow- 
ing :_ 

"  Mr.  Bickersteth  states  in  the  preface  that  'the 
design  of  this  poem  has  been  laid  up  in  his  heart 
for  more  than  twenty  years.'  The  execution  of  it, 
however,  at  last,  occupied  two  years  only ;  and  it 
comes  forth  with  all  the  freshness  of  a  new  creation. 
In  common  with  a  large  number  in  the  Church  of 
England,  he  understands  prophecy  as  indicating  a 
personal  reign  of  Christ  on  earth,  to  commence  at 
a  day  now  not  distant ;  and  his  poem  is  constructed 
in  accordance  with  this  theory.  But  it  is  by  no 
means  necessary  to  adopt  his  views  on  this  partic- 
ular topic  in  order  to  enjoy  his  fine  poetical  con- 
ceptions. Apart  from  its  interpretations  of  the 
prophetic  symbols,  the  volume  is  eminently  worthy 
to  be  read. 

"  One  of  the  questions  in  relation  to  the  c  Paradise 
Lost'  —  often  discussed,  but  never  quite  decided 
by  the  critics  —  has  been  whether  or  not  that  can 
properly  be  called  an  epic  poem.  The  same  ques- 
tion, on  precisely  the  same  grounds,  may  be  raised 
in  respect  to  the  'Yesterday,  To-day,  and  Forever.' 
Both  poems  abound  in  epic  narrative ;  yet  both 
lack  the  unity  of  plan  and  action  that  characterize 
the  Iliad,  which  proposes,  at  the  outset,  Achilles's 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTICE.  X1U 

wrath  and  its  consequences  as  the  subject  to  be 
treated.  Both  are  pervaded  by  the  epic  spirit, 
although  in  neither  are  the  different  acts  bound 
together  by  their  relation  to  the  fortunes  of  one 
hero.  In  common  with  the  sublime  work  of  Dante, 
both  are,  in  fact,  magnificent  visions,  richly  diversi- 
fied, and  exhibiting  all  the  essential  elements  of 
heroic  poetry,  but  not  limited  to  the  range  allowed 
in  the  evolution  of  the  deeds  and  fortunes  of  a  chief 
central  actor.  These  three  visions  are,  indeed,  but 
different  views  of  the  same  grand  objects  of  human 
thought  and  interest, —  sin,  redemption,  and  salva- 
tion. But,  as  Milton,  because  he  wrote  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  own  intellect  and  heart,  and  from  the 
inspiration  of  his  own  genius,  neither  copied  nor 
imitated  Dante,  so  Bickersteth  has  shown  himself  a 
great  and  original  poet,  by  treating  substantially 
the  same  themes  as  Milton,  without  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  treading  in  his  steps,  and  in  a  style 
singularly  original  and  fresh.  He  has  conceived 
his  subject  for  himself,  has  handled  it  after  a  fashion 
of  his  own  ;  and,  while  embodying  in  it  the  type  of 
religious  thought  and  feeling  which  belongs  dis- 
tinctively to  his  time,  has  impressed  on  the  whole 
work  his  own  intellectual  and  moral  image,  as 
completely  as  either  of  his  illustrious  predecessors 
did  on  his. 


Xiv  INTRODUCTORY    NOTICE. 

"  Beginning  with  the  death  of  the  Seer,  and  his 
entrance  into  Paradise,  the  poem  recounts  the  whole 
drama  of  earth's  moral  history,  in  the  form  of  a 
narrative  from  the  lips  of  Oriel,  his  guardian  angel. 
Our  limits  will  hot  allow  us  to  go  into  any  analysis 
of  the  action  represented.  We  can  only  say  that 
it  exhibits  a  rich  and  creative  imagination,  an  ex- 
quisite purity  of  taste,  and  a  power  of  delineation 
that  leaves  little  to  be  desired.  Nothing  is  vague 
and  half-conceived,  or  indistinctly  told.  The  lan- 
guage is  simple  and  precise,  rarely  turgid  or 
strained,  or  marred  with  affectations  of  any  sort. 
In  the  mode  of  conceiving  and  describing  the  scenery 
and  life  of  the  invisible  world,  there  is  a  felicitous 
medium  between  the  grossness  of  sheer  materialism 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  shadowy  tenuity  of  an 
unreal  spiritualism  on  the  other.  Aside  from  the 
brief  and  simple  statements  of  the  Scriptures  them- 
selves, we  have  read  nothing,  to  our  thought,  at  all 
comparable  to  these  pictures  of  the  intermediate 
state  of  departed  souls.  In  the  progress  of  the 
dramatic  development  of  the  plan,  the  interest  is 
well  sustained,  and  holds  the  unflagging  attention 
of  the  reader  to  the  last.  If,  along  with  a  power  to 
appreciate  charming  language  and  the  harmonies 
of  verse,  one  has  also  a  heart  warm  with  devout 
affection  and  in  quick  sympathy  with  what  is  truly 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTICE.  XV 

spiritual  and  divine,  he  cannot  but  find  pleasure, 
absorbing  and  intense,  yet  altogether  healthful,  in 
this  noble  contribution  to  English  sacred  literature. 
No  Christian  heart,  it  would  seem,  can  fail  to  be 
refreshed  and  made  permanently  better  by  finding 
itself  borne  up,  as  on  mighty  wings,  into  the  highest 
regions  of  religious  thought,  and  enabled  to  study, 
in  one  comprehensive  view,  the  great  scheme  of 
Eternal  Providence  for  the  recovery  of  the  human 
race  to  holiness  and  life.  We  have  felt,  on  laying 
down  this  volume,  as  if  we  had  been  for  some  time 
wandering  through  the  bewildering  loveliness  of 
Paradise ;  breathing  its  vital  air,  communing  with 
angels  and  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect,  and 
beholding  the  face  and  hearing  the  voice  of  the 
Blessed  One  whom  the  holy  in  all  worlds  adore. 
Such,  we  can  hardly  doubt,  will  be  the  experience 
of  many  who  will  read  and  re-read  its  quickening 
and  inspiring  pages." 

Our  maturer  judgment  has  confirmed  these  first 
impressions.  The  popular  heart,  too,  has  responded 
at  last  to  the  touching  power  of  this  great  poem. 
Although  so  far  removed  from  the  materialistic  and 
sceptical  spirit  which  extensively  pervades  the  cur- 
rent literature,  it  has  attracted  even  the  worldly  to 
its  pages.  Though  as  full  of  Christian  truth  and 
feeling  as  that  enchanting  dream,  the  "  Pilgrim's 


XVI  INTRODUCTORY   NOTICE. 

Progress,"  like  that  inimitable  book,  it  has  arrested 
and  held  the  attention  of  widely  different  classes. 
More  than  twenty  thousand  copies  have  been  sold 
in  this  country.  Many  lovers  of  heavenly  things 
have  found  themselves  spiritually  refreshed  and 
quickened,  while  feasting  both  intellect  and  imagi- 
nation amidst  its  magnificent  visions.  In  one 
instance  within  our  knowledge,  an  intelligent  scep- 
tic, who  had  retired  from  business  to  enjoy  his 
wealth,  was  indebted  to  the  reading  of  it  for  a  ren- 
ovated faith  and  a  Christian  hope  that  brightened 
as  he  entered,  soon  after,  within  the  vale  to  behold 
for  himself  the  invisible  realities.  If  the  captious 
critic  should  maintain  that  it  is  no  certain  proof  of 
high  artistic  merit  in  a  poem,  that  it  has  produced 
practical  results  that  might  have  been  reached  by 
means  of  words  in  simple  prose  as  well,  we  grant 
it.  But  when  you  have  an  original  and  splendid 
poem  that  artistically  satisfies  the  critical  intellect 
and  the  discriminating  taste,  it  is  higli  praise  to  be 
able  to  say  that,  in  addition  to  all  this,  it  speaks 
effectively  to  that  which  is  divinest  in  the  human 
soul, —  its  moral  and  religious  nature.  We  are, 
indeed,  fully  of  the  opinion  that  poetry,  to  be  of 
the  highest  order,  must  always  be  subservient  to 
an  end,  or  ends,  beyond  that  of  merely  affording  a 
transient   pleasure.     As  one  of  the   noblest  of  the 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTICE.  XV11 

Fine  Arts,  its  legitimate  function  is  to  refine  and 
elevate  those  who  feel  its  power.  It  ought  espe- 
cially to  be  made  the  instrument  of  lifting  the  soul 
to  the  loftiest  regions  of  thought,  and  of  kindling 
in  it  the  emotions  and  sentiments  that  are  most 
worthy  of  its  origin  and  its  eternal  relations.  It 
has  too  often  been  degraded  by  being  made  the 
vehicle  of  what  was  fitted  only  to  defile  the  hidden 
fountains  of  the  heart ;  and  it  is  an  achievement 
deserving  no  common  measure  of  praise  to  restore 
it  to  its  exalted  office,  and  to  employ  its  magic  spell, 
—  in  the  words  of  Dr.  SamuelJohnson,  —  "to  give 
ardor  to  virtue  and  confidence  to  truth."  Since  it 
is  acknowledged  to  have  wondrous  power  over  all 
the  finer  susceptibilities  of  our  nature,  why  should 
it  not,  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  it  hitherto  has 
been,  be  made  to  contribute  to  the  highest  and  best 
culture  of  mankind  ? 

We  have  referred  to  Mr.  Bickersteth  personally, 
and  to  the  work  on  which  chiefly  his  reputation  as 
a  poet  rests,  because  this  has  seemed  the  most  nat- 
ural way  of  introducing  the  present  volume.  In 
this  collection,  the  author  offers  us  some  of  his  minor 
poems,  —  leaves  that  have  been  scattered  by  the 
wayside  of  life  and  are  now  first  brought  together. 
Some  of  them  are  the  prize  pieces  written  in  his 
University  days :    others  are    occasional  bubblings 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Two  Brothers 25 

The  Things  that  are 50 

Samson 65 

Nineveh 86 

Ezektel  (Seatonian  Prize  Poem) 114 

John  Baptist 133 

The  Favoritisms  of  Heaven 154 

To  my  Sister,  on  the  Eve  of  her  Marriage     .     .  160 

Der  Ausruf 164 

WlEGENLIED 168 

In  Imitation  of  Korner's  "Das  warst  Du"  .     .     .  170 

On  Seeing  a  Leaf  fall  by  Moonlight 174 

Fragments 176 

Lines  on  a  Suffering  Sister:  — 

I.     Suffering  for  thee 178 

II.     Oh  tread  lightly 180 

III.    Yes,  Billow  after  Billow 182 

A  Night  at  Sandgate 185 

On  an  Air  of  Novello's, —  "Ave  Verum"    .     .     .  189 

Undine  in  Music 191 

Tears  in  Music 197 

Commemoration  Ode 202 

Sonnet 211 

Not  Luck,  but  Love 212 


XX11  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

"Lord,  save  me" 213 

The  World's  Peace  and  Christ's 217 

The  Threshold  of  Things  Unseen:  — 

I.     The  Babe's  First  Journey 219 

II.     The  Child's  Home  Call 222 

III.  Translated,  not  Confirmed 224 

IV.  The  Penitent's  Death-Bed 226 

V.     Is  it  Well? 229 

VI.     The  Unknown  To-morrow 230 

VII.     The  Thfee  Birthdays 231 

Death  and  Victory 234 

The  Trouble  of  Jesus'  Soul    . 239 

No  More  Crying 242 

HYMNS :  — 

I.     The  Prince  of  Peace 245 

IT.    The  Rock  of  Ages 247 

III.  The  Hiding-Place 249 

IV.  Abide  in  Me 251 

V.     Hymn  to  the  Holy  Trinity 253 

VI.     The  Trumpet  of  Jubilee 255 

VII.     "He  shall  gather  the  Lambs  with  his 

Arm" 257 

Vin.     Baptism  of  such  as  are  of  Riper  Years  259 

IX.     Confirmation  Hymn 261 

X.    Rest  in  the  Lord:  Marriage  Hymn  .     .  263 

XI.     The  Marriage  Benediction 265 

XII.    The  Village  Evening  Hymn 268 

XIII.  Hymn  to  be  used  at  Sea 270 

XIV.  The  Institution  of  the  Lord's  Supper  .  272 
XV.    Communion  of  the  Sick 274 


contents.  xxiii 

HYMNS  (continued).  PAOE 

XVI.     Till  He  come 276 

XVII.     IIakikks  harping  with  their  Harps   .     .     278 
XVIII.     He  cometii 280 

The  Walk  to  Emmaus 282 


CHANCELLOR'S  PRIZE   POEMS:  — 

The  Tower  of  London 287 

Caubiil 299 

CjEsar\s  Invasion  of  Britain 313 


THE   TWO   BROTHERS. 

Evdovoa  yup  <f>pqv  dfifiamv  hafnrpvverai. 

JEscu.  Eum. 

4re  the  embers  smouldering,  brother  ?     Think  not  to  re- 
vive their  light. 

Brother,  I've  a  tale  to  tell  thee  I  can  better  tell  at  night : 

And  their  faint  dun  glow  will  glimmer  till,  perchance,  my 
tale  is  done. 

List!  —  that  dull  and  heavy  sound  —  it  is  the  church-bell 
pealing  "one." 

Strangely  through  the  sere  elm  forests  come  the  fitful  gusts 
of  wind, 

Strangely  on  the  casement  beats  the  hollow  drifting  rain 
behind ; 

Night  broods  round,  a  wall  of  darkness,  such  as  moon- 
beams cannot  scale, 

And  the  blessed  stars  are  blunted  like  a  shaft  from  coat  of 
mail. 

2 


26  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Thirteen  summers  have  waved  round  us,  thirteen  winters 

shower'd  their  snows, 
Thirteen  springs  danced  by,  and  thirteen  autumns  pass'd 

like  music's  close, 
Since  I  witness'd   gloom  like  this,  wherein  the   stoutest 

heart  would  melt : 
Thick  close  darkness  on  our  eyelids  weighing  —  darkness 

that  is  felt. 
Oh,  the  memory  of  that  midnight,  spectre-like,  within  me 

sleeps ; 
If  I  only  gaze,  it  rises  dimly  from  my  spirit's  deeps  — 
Rises  with  the  sere  elm  forests  struck  by  fitful  gusts  of 

wind, 
And  the  hollow  drifting  raindrops  on  the  casement  close 

behind : 
Every  wind-moan  finds  an  echo  in  my  moaning  heart  within, 
And  the  rain  is  not  as  dewdrops  to  a  soul  once  scarr'd  with 

sin. 

Brother,  thou  wert  ever  to  me  as  a  young  and  golden  mist 
Floating  through  blue  liquid   heavens,  with  the  morning 

sunlight  kiss'd ; 
Which  the  eye  looks  up  and  blesses,  lingering  on  its  track 

above, 


THE    TWO    BROTHER*.  27 

With  an  old  familiar  fondness  and  an  earnestness  of  love. 
Brother,  I  to  thee  was  ever  as  a  storm-cloud  on  the  hills, 
Lowering  o'er  the  rocks  and  caverns  and  the  laughter  of 

the  rills : 
Yet  I've  thought  at  times,  my  brother,  from  the  sunshine 

of  thy  life, 
Passing  rainbow  gleams  have  fallen  on  my  spirit-world  of 

strife : 
For  when  every  fount  was  wormwood,  every  star  had  ceased 

to  shine, 
It  was  bliss  in  dreams  to  ponder  how  unlike  thy  lot  to  mine. 
Yet,  in  childhood,  I  remember  how   our  sainted   mother 

said  — 
Often  on  bright  Sabbath  eves,  and  thrice  upon  her  dying 

bed  — 
That  far  scenes  would  crowd  upon  her,  when  she  look'd  on 

me  and  thee, 
In   the   distance,  dream-like   dawning,  from   the  glorious 

dream-countree. 
She  was  kneeling,  as  she  told  us,  at  her  Saviour's  blessed 

feet  — 
Leaning  on  her  harp,  which  warbled  (as  she  knelt)  heaven's 

music  sweet — 


28  THB    TWO    BROTHERS. 

But  the  thrill  of  that  communion,  and  the  smiles  that  on 

her  fell, 
And  the  melody  of  worship,  words,  she  said,  might  never 

tell. 
Still  the  dream  grew  clear  and  clearer,  softer  still  that 

music's  tone, 
And  she  saw  she  was  not  kneeling  in  that  glorious  light 

alone : 
For  beside  her  were  two  spirits  (well  she  knew  them),  I 

and  thou ; 
Life  and  light  and  love,  all  blended,  like  soft  rainbows,  on 

our  brow. 
And  like  us  in  blest  communion  kneeling,  singing  as  we 

sung, 
On  the  hand  of  each  of  us  a  gentler  lovelier  angel  hung. 

Often  since  I've  mused,  my  brother,  when  my  heart  was 

rent,  if  this 
Were  a  heaven-sent  dream,  prophetic  of  a  far-off  home  of 

bliss, 
Or  a  beautiful  life-picture  by  affection's  fingers  drawn, 
But  which,  like  my  earthly  joys,  should  fade,  fade,  fade 

away  at  dawn. 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  29 

Weep  not,  brother !  thou  hast  found  that  angel  of  the  far-off 

land, 
Whom  our  mother  saw  there  kneeling,  gently  clinging  to 

thy  hand. 
I,  too,  have  a  tale  to  tell  thee  (would  that  it  may  end  in 

light), 
Though  a  tale  of  sin  and  sorrow,  I  can  better  tell  at  night. 
Who  could  speak  of  sad  hearts  broken  by  himself,  of  tear- 

drown'd  eyes, 
And  of  wither'd  hopes  and  feelings,  underneath  blue  laugh- 
ing skies  ? 
Sorrow  clings  to  sorrow's  raiment  —  grief  must  have  her 

twilight  wan  — 
Moan,  ye  winds  and  woods  and  waves,  and  let  the  embers 

smoulder  on. 

Gaze  with  me  a  moment  down  the  billowy  ocean  of  our  life, 
Which  with  tears  and  fitful  radiance  seems  mysteriously 

rife: 
In  the  distance,  like  the  earliest  flush  of  morning  o'er  the 

hills, 
Even  here,  through  cloud  and  gloom,  a  dewy  mellow  light 

distils. 


30  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Still  it  grows  upon  my  sight  intensely  beautiful  and  grand, 

From  the  land  of  childhood  streaming,  childhood's  golden 
faery-land : 

When  Time  went  on  sunshine  wheels,  on  wings  of  breezy 
joyaunce  by, 

Every  feeling,  like  the  sky-lark,  from  the  earth  and  to  the 
sky. 

Then,  perchance,  no  human  seer  that  look'd  upon  our  reck- 
less brow, 

Could  have  prophesied  the  diverse  pathway  we  are  travel- 
ling now. 

But  the  first  black  cloud  that  shadow'd  childhood's  blue 
pellucid  years, 

Gloom'd,  rose,  cover'd,  broke  upon  us  with  a  sudden  dash 
of  tears  — 

Gloom'd  upon  the  morn,  the  tidings  of  our  father's  victory 
came, 

Earn'd  with  precious  drops  of  blood  —  the  dew,  an'  if  ye 
will,  of  fame ; 

Broke — the  next  sad  post  a  letter,  edged  with  black,  too 
surely  told 

That  his  heart  was  still  for  ever,  and  his  lips  for  ever  cold. 

Then  our  mother  —  day  by  day  she  struggled  with  her 
choking  grief — 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  31 

Oh,  she  could  not  —  but  beside  us  withered,  like  a  dying  leaf: 
And,  when  leaves  should  die,  in  autumn,  her  the  first  of  all 

the  year, 
Laid  we  down,  with  sighs  and  weeping,  on  her  cold  sepul- 
chral bier ; 
And  with  faltering  listless  footsteps  slowly  sought,  when  all 

was  o'er, 
Hand  in  hand  our  desolate  home;  though  desolate,  ours, 

alas,  no  more. 
We  were  parted  —  each  alone,  'mid  stranger  hearts  and 

faces  strange : 
Dreary  seem'd  the  waste  of  lifetime,  like  a  barren  shore,  to 

range. 
But  a  gentle  eye  fell  on  thee  —  seem'd  it  but  a  sister's  love  ? 
Pity's  tears,  that  wept  thy  sorrows,  from  one  tenderer  than 

the  dove  ? 
Oh,  ye  grew  for  five  brief  summers  there  together,  side  by 

side, 
Till  she  stood  in  beauty  by  thee,  thine  own  loving  lovely 

bride ; 
Blushing,  trembling,  till  the  vow  to  love  thee  —  then  her 

face  grew  bright, 
And  intense  affection  o'er  her  threw  a  beauty  like  the  light. 


32  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Ah !  how  beautiful  life's  ocean  seem'd  that  gentle  cloudless 

noon, 
Like  a  moonlight  sea  that  slumbers  underneath  the  summer 

moon, 
When  the  stars  steal  hearts  responsive  to  their  own  wild 

eloquence, 
And  a  strange  sweet  music  o'er  us  comes,  we  know  not, 

heed  not,  whence,  — 
From  the  skies,  or  from  the  falling  of  melodious  drops  of 

foam, 
Or  from  deeper  spirit-fountains  welling  in  our  spirit-home. 
Few,  methinks,  are  such  blest  havens  on  the  shores  of  time 

and  earth ; 
Seldom  broods  there  peace  so  tranquil  over  life's  exuberant 

mirth. 

But  I  must  not  linger,  brother,  on  the  brightness  of  thy 
track, 

When  dark  spectres  round  mine  own  with  spells  are  whis- 
pering me  back. 

List !  I  do  not  wish  that  others  should  partake  my  sinful 
load, 

Yet  I  sometimes  think  the  streamlet  from  that  bitter  foun- 
tain fiow'd : 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  33 

For  when  harsh  unkindness  pruned  and  stunted  all  affec- 
tion's shoots, 
Then  perhaps  the  canker  enter'd,  festering  at  my  being's 

roots : 
For  with  sickening  heart  I  turn'd  from  human  faces,  as 

from  blight, 
Since  they  never  lit  with  love,  and  never  read  my  feelings 

right, 
To  the  world  of  thought  and  fancy  —  that,  my  country  — 

books,  my  friends ; 
Fool,  fool!  deeming  heartless   things  for  gushing  hearts 

would  make  amends. 
Yet  at  first  how  strangely  lovely  seem'd  that  icy  crystal  air, 
To  a  lonely  nestless  bird  upon  its  first  wild  entrance  there. 
Day  by  day  the  spirit   finding  eagle  strength  within  its 

wings, 
Proudly  tracking  truth  and  beauty  there  'mid  everlasting 

things ; 
Never  pausing,  resting  never  on  its  flight  intensely  keen, 
Deeming  it  would  touch  the  boundary  of  that  dark-blue 

vault  serene. 
If  I  gazed  below,  the  mists  were  wrapping  all  in  vaporous 

fold, 

2* 


34  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Mists   of  selfishness   and   meanness,    chilling  blight,   and 

sordid  gold : 
All  along  whose  cloudy  skirts  base  ignis-fatuus  lights  would 

flame, 
Luxury,  and   ease,  and   riches,  and  perhaps   some   petty 

fame. 
u  Let  them  flame  and  flare,"  I  shouted,  "  round  those  spirits' 

prison  bars, 
Mine  are  the  free  boundless  heavens,  mine  the  lightnings, 

mine  the  stars : " 
And  aloft  I  clapp'd  my  pinions,  soaring  on  for  days  and 

weeks, 
After  some  fresh  burning   hope    still  kindling   o'er  fresh 

mountain-peaks. 
Ah,  I  knew  not  that,  though  earthborn  lamps  might  never 

mount  so  high, 
There  are  meteors  that  deceive,  and  stars  *  that  wander  in 

the  sky. 
Ah,  I  saw  not  that  the  pole-star,  Faith,  was  waning  fast 

and  dim, 
And  of  God  —  fool,  fool!  —  I  thought  not  in  my  madden'd 

heart  of  Him ; 

1  uaripeg  nXavrjTcu.  —  Jude  13. 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  35 

But  from  far  I  heard  a  whisper  of  the  fontal  light  divine, 
Reason,  human  earthly  Reason,  sheds  within  the  spirit's 

shrine. 
Syren-like  that  music  falling,  like  a  gush  of  holy  tears 
On  deep  waves,  flow'd  on  and  whisper'd  'twas  the  music  of 

the  spheres, 
Bidding  me  come  up  and  follow  to  its  own  dear  home  on 

high, 
Maddening  while  it  tranced  my  soul,  and  blinding  while  it 

lured  mine  eye ; 
Till  I  rear'd  my  adoration  higher  than  God's  eternal  throne : 
Reason  was  the  God  I  worshipp'd  —  trusting,  clinging  there 

alone. 
And  I  folio w'd  —  poor  fond  climber — leaving  faith  and 

trust  above 
To   low  grovelling   minds  of  earth,  or   fond   enthusiasts' 

frantic  love, 
Till  I  stood  in  naked  horror  on  the  sceptic's  precipice, 
All  my  darling  visions  staring  on  me  there,  like  things  of 

ice. 
Oh,  the  solitude  that  crush'd  me!  oh,  that   dreary  word 

"alone"! 
Not  a  kindred  heart  to  lean  on,  not  an  anchor  for  mine 

own  — 


36  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Without  truth  and  love  and  beauty,  human  love  or  love  of 

God  — 
Not  a  gleam  to  point  the  pathway  of  return  the  way  1 

trode :  — 
But  the  meteors,  I  had  follow'd,  sicken'd  one  by  one  and 

died, 
And  the  dark1  of  darkness  o'er  them  closed  for  ever  far  and 

wide, 
Woe  was  me !  for  in  that  midnight  I  could  neither  pray 

nor  weep  — 
Had  I  pray'd  an  Ear  was  open,  and  an  Eye  that  could  not 

sleep. 
But  when  all  without  was  desert,  and  wild  desert  all  within, 
Plunged  I  with  a  maniac's  madness,  down  the  treacherous 

gulf  of  sin. 
Whilome  I  had  often  sneer'd  at  others  from  the  height  of 

fame, 
Finding  what  they  deem'd  enjoyment  in  the  haunts  of  sin 

and  shame ;  — 
Now  —  but  no  —  I  will  not  drag  thee  to  the  gloomy  dens 

of  guilt  — 
List !  their  spectral  voices  haunt  me  —  go  and  ask  them  if 

thou  wilt : 
1  dig  b  $<f>og  tov  okotovc  elg  aluva  TerijpTjTcu.  —  Jude  13 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  37 

Broken  hearts  and  gentle  bosoms,  once  serene  and  pure  as 

thine  — 
Woe,  woe !  broken  now  and  withering  soon  to  fall  and  die 

like  mine  — 
But  I  reck'd  not,  for  my  spirit  seem'd  alternate  fire  and 

night, 
Like  a  cloud-robed  sky  at  midnight  riven  and  kindled  into 

light. 

Hush !  speak  low :  how  shall  I  tell  thee  after  this  of  inno- 
cence ? 

Thou  wilt  mock  me  —  brother,  brother  —  I  can  never  tell 
thee  —  hence ! 

See!  the  embers  all  have  smoulder'd —  see  their  faint 
light  dying  wanes: 

Brother,  look,  a  star  is  trembling  through  the  tearful  win- 
dow-panes. 

I  can  tell  thee  now,  —  for  blessed  are  to  me  the  thoughts 
that  rise 

With  those  silent  pilgrims  yonder  wending  through  the 
silent  skies. 

Even  thus  amid  the  darkness,  and  the  winds,  the  waves,  the 
storm, 


38  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

Of  my  sin-sick  soul,  I  pass'd  one  evening  by  an  angel  form. 
She  had  seen  me  sadly  smile  upon  some  children  sporting 

by, 

And  her  heart  was  touch'd  with  pity  —  and  a  tear  came  in 

her  eye : 
And  she  look'd  upon  me  —  spell-bound,  I  stood  still  and 

lookM  on  her, 
And  a  gleam  of  light  fell  glancing  down  the  mists  of  things 

that  were. 

Surely  ne'er  o'er  human  bosom  came  love  in  such  tempest- 
kind; 

All  my  spirit's  dark  foundations  heaved  like  waves  beneath 
the  wind. 

Often  did  I  wrench  the  thought  from  out  my  bosom's  core 
and  cry, 

Never  should  my  cloud-tost  being  cross  that  blue  trans- 
parent sky. 

But  again  she  pass'd,  and  sighing —  Jesus,  it  was  all  she  said. 

Yet  down,  down  into  her  heart-depths  through  bewildering 
tears  I  read  — 

u  Thou  art  weary,  way-worn,  storm-tost  —  darker  spots  are 
on  thy  soul : 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  39 

Jesus  died  —  fear  not,  dear  wanderer  —  storms  must  bend 

to  His  control." 
Oh,  that  word !  I  scarce  had  heard  it  since  in  music  erst  it 

fell 
From  our  sainted  mother's  lips,  who  breathed  it  as  her  last 

farewell. 
The  dark  thunder-clouds  that  long  had  risen  with  every 

rising  day, 
Heard  it,  and  were  troubled  —  heard  it,  and  began  to  break 

away. 
Bitter  was  the  shame,  and  bitter  were  the  first  tears  that  I 

wept ;  — 
Frequent  still  wild  nightmare  visions  broke  upon  the  sleep 

I  slept :  — 
But  at  length  the  spring  was  heaPd,  and  gentle  tears  began 

to  flow, 
And  One  whisper'd,  "I  have  suffered  —  I  have  borne  thy 

load  of  woe ! " 
All  the  fabled  lights  of  Reason  seem'd  like  torch-flames  tost 

and  driven  — 
All  its  music  was  as  discord  to  the  melody  of  heaven. 
As  I  knelt  and  gazed  (esteeming  all  the  world  beside  but 

loss) 


40  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

On  the  one  lone  star  that  glimmer'd  o'er  my  Saviour's 

silent  cross. 
Brother,  brother,  canst  thou  wonder  that,  when  peace  began 

to  brood 
Over  those  wild  troubled  waters  of  my  spirit's  solitude, 
I  should  turn  and  bless  the  angel  who  had  shewn  that  light 

divine  ? 
Blessing,  see  her  —  seeing,  love  her  —  win  and  bind  her 

heart  to  mine  ? 

Shall  I  tell  thee  of  the  beauty  of  her  sylph-like  form  and 

face, 
Such  as  sculptor's  hands,  entranced  all  the  while,  might 

love  to  trace  ? 
Of  her  soft  dark  tresses  shading  the  swift  blushes  of  her 

cheek  ? 
Of  her  clear  and  thoughtful  forehead,  sunlit  like  a  cloud- 
land  peak  ? 
Of  her  gentle  heaving  bosom,  heaving  o'er  her  passionate 

heart  ? 
Of  her  soft  blue  eye  that  bound  thee  without  thinking, 

without  art — 
But  within  whose  cool  deep  fountain  slept  a  thousand  sunny 

rays  ?  — 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  41 

Tush !   the  world  saw  that,  and  often  spoke  thereof  in 

heartless  praise. 
No,  I  will  not  tell  thee,  brother,  if  I  could  for  grief  and 

tears  — 
Love  is  silent  as  the  stars  that  love  us  in  their  voiceless 

spheres, 
Thus  far  only  —  she  was  ever,  as  she  wander'd   by  my 

side, 
Like  a  rill  of  spirit-music  flowing  with  ethereal  tide 
Through  my  heart  of  hearts,  and  chasing  all  the  discords 

lingering  yet 
On  the  ruffled  waves  of  life  that  could  not  in  an  hour 

forget 
What,  if  on  my  holiest  moments  burst  detested  thoughts 

and  vile, 
Like  a  breath  the  cloud  was  scatter'd  with  the  magic  of 

her  smile. 
Soon  we  parted  —  but  that  radiance  pass'd  not  into  mist 

or  dreams, 
Haunting  still  deep  mystic  caverns  with  the  light  of  moon- 
light streams : 
Yes,  we  parted  —  but  that  music  did  not  die  upon  mine 

ears, 


42  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

For  its  cycle  hath  no  boundary,  and  its1  lordliness  no 

peers. 
Thrice  we  met  and  thrice  were  sever'd,  this  the  last  sad 

farewell  sound 
Ere  earth's  links  should  bind,  we  whisper'd,  those  Heaven 

had  already  bound. 

'Twas  a  night  of  clouds  and  tempests  sweeping  through 

the  void  of  black, 
Every  sad  blast  through  the  forest  given  in  sadder  echoes 

back, 
Till  they  died  among  the  cloisters  with  a  melancholy  cry 
As  of  restless  moaning  waters  or  dark  spectres  hurrying 

by- 

And  dear  thoughts  would  rise  within  me  with  their  weep- 
ing train  of  woes, 

But  I  shut  my  heart  upon  them,  chased  them  ever  as  they 
rose, 

Rambled  on  through  fancy  labyrinths,  dreaming  o'er  my 
Adeline, 

Threw  me  on  my  couch,  and  sleeping  still  dreamt  on  that 
dream  divine. 

1  "Listening  the  lordly  music  flowing  on 

The  illimitable  years."  —  Tennyson's  Ode  to  Memory. 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  43 

And  I  thought  she  look'd  upon  me  with  her  own  un- 
troubled gaze, 
Blushing  while   my  silent  rapture   praised   as  language 

could  not  praise : 
But  beneath  my  eye  her  beauty  grew  to  deepness  more 

intense, 
All  that  could  be  earthly  melting  into  heavenlier  innocence. 
Brother,  —  Sleep  hath   eyes  —  and '  silence   hears   strange 

sounds  at  midnight  hours, 
Wonder  then  unbars  the  caverns  of  her  phantom-haunted 

towers, 
And  we  see  prophetic  visions  —  but,  oh !  never  till  that 

time 
Saw  I  with  my  earnest  eyes  the  secrets  of  night's  lonely 

chime. 
At  her  beauty  I  was  troubled,  so  unearthly  bright,  and 

deep, 
And  I  felt  a  cold  misgiving  stealing  through  my  feverish 

sleep. 
Brother,  list!   my  dreams  were  startled;  in  my  couch  I 

sate  upright ; 
And  I  wildly  gazed  around  me  —  not  a  star  was  in  the 

night, 


44  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

But  a  mild  and  chasten'd  radiance  softly  streaming  fill'd 

my  room, 
Centring  round  her  angel  figure  —  even  in  death  my  light 

in  gloom. 
Yes,  she  stood  there  —  from  her  eye  the  tears  fell  silently 

and  fast ; 
If  ye  will,  fond  human  frailty  still  victorious  to  the  last : 
Tears  —  aye  well  she  knew  the  iron  soon  would  rive  this 

quivering  heart : 
Tears  —  her  home  was  far  away,  and  I  an  exile,  we  must 

part. 
But  methinks  I  could  have  borne  far  easier  bosom-rending 

groans 
Than  that  mournful  boding  silence,  and  I  cried  in  passion- 
ate tones, 
"  Am  I   dreaming  ?   oh,  beloved,  gaze   I   on   thee   there 

awake  ? 
Wherefore  weepest  thou  ?     Speak  —  speak,  for  soon  this 

bursting  heart  will  break  ! 
Hast  thou  left  me  then  for  ever,  here  upon  this  desolate 

shore  ? 
Thou    my  only  fellow-pilgrim — speak,    speak,    art    thou 

mine  no  more?" 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  45 

And  she  spoke  —  her  voice  was  music,  music  over  waters 

heard, 
The  deep  waters  of  that  grief  that  in  her  bosom's  depths 

was  stirr'd. 
"  Yes,  mine  own  one,  we  are  parted,  such  as  time  and  space 

can  part  — 
But  for  ever  and  for  ever  we  are  one  in  soul  and  heart : 
This  shall  seal  me  thine"  —  and  speaking  nearer  to  my 

side  she  press'd, 
Till  the  bright  apparel  brush'd  me  flowing  o'er  her  angel 

breast. 
Words  may  never  tell  my  rapture,  blent  with  awe  serenely 

proud, 
As  I  felt  her  presence  bending  o'er  me   like   a  golden 

cloud, 
As  a  moment  on  my  bosom  beat  responsively  her  own, 
As  her  lips  touch'd  mine  —  and  in  a  moment  I  was  there 

—  alone. 
Nothing  saw  I  but  the  midnight's  funeral  blackness  in  my 

room, 
Nothing  heard  I  but  the  wind  and  raindrops  driving  through 

the  gloom : 
All  my  being,  that  had  lately  bloom'd  with   flowers  and 

teem'd  with  springs, 


46  THE    TWO    BBOTH&B& 

Seem'd  one  dreary  vast  "  alone,"  a  barren  wilderness  of 

things. 
Aye  alone  —  the  spell  of  sunshine  that  had  fallen  on  my 

track, 
Now  was  far  beyond  the  clouds,  its  native  sky  had  calFd  it 

back: 
I  was  left  o'er  moor  and  mountain  still  to  wander  wearily, 
And  the  dead  leaves  round  me  telling,  Autumn  had  come 

soon  for  me. 

Endless  seem'd  the  hours  of  darkness,  yet  they  wore  at 

last  away, 
And  the  morning  dawn'd,  though  morning,  still  to  me  a 

midnight  day. 
She  was  dead,  I  knew  more  surely  than  if  I  had  seen  her 

die, 
But  grief  clings  to  fragile  anchors  when  the  storms  are 

hurtling  by. 
So  at  morning  set  I  forth  my  heartless  hopeless  way  to 

wend, 
Sorrow  clinging  round  my  journey,  sorrow  brooding  at  the 

end. 

But  one  met  me,  and  he  wept  —  I  knew  his  tale  ere  he 
begun — 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  47 

She  had  died  at  yester-midnight,  dying  as  the  bell  peaTd 

"one"! 
Heavy-hearted  I  return'd  —  I  could  not  bear  her  corse  to 

see 
Whom   I  just  had   seen   apparelTd  like  one  of  the  far 

countree. 
Yes,  I  felt  my  heart  was  broken !    though  for  years  it  did 

not  die, 
But  it  must  be  with  its  treasure  up  in  yon  eternal  sky, 
God,  my  Father,  He  was  there  —  my  blessed  Saviour,  'twas 

His  home, 
Adeline,  and  she  who  bore  me,  harbor'd  there,  no  more  to 

roam. 
And  my  earthly  path  was  clouded,  all  its  lingering  gleams 

had  fled, 
Save  the  memories  of  communion  with  the  living  and  the 

dead. 
Oh,  they  sicken'd  not,  nor  faded  into  fond  imaginings, 
For  true  joys,  if    only  true,  immortal   are   'mid   mortal 

things : 
Whilome  they  were  golden  lamps  that  o'er  our  pilgrim 

pathway  shone, 
Whose  dear  light  we  fondly  bless'd,  and  wended  unrepining 

on: 


48  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

And  when  number'd  with  the  past  they  sank  not  in  the 
misty  sea 

With  the  foul  and  base-born  glimmer  of  the  world's  false- 
hearted glee, 

But  majestically  rose,  an  apotheosis  of  light, 

Till  they  clomb  the  dark-blue  heavens,  stars  for  ever  'mid 
the  night ; 

And  thence  shining  on  our  pathway  from  their  glorious 
home  afar, 

Tell  us  of  the  things  that  have  been,  that  they  shall  be,  and 
they  are. 

Brother,  I  have  told  thee  all  my  gloomy  tale  of  fear  and 

sin; 
Ah,  forgive   me,  for   I   could   not   die   and  keep   it  pent 

within  — 
Since  she  went,  this  heart's  beloved,  thirteen  dreary  years 

have  pass'd, 
Something  tells  me  in  my  bosom,  this — joy,  joy! — shall 

be  my  last. 
Brother,  I  have  lived  and  roam'd  in  tracking  those  I  once 

beguiled, 
To  essay  with  me  sin's  fearful  dark  interminable  wild ; 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  49 

Days  and  nights  of  supplication  I  have  agonized  for  them, 
Till  to  all,  'mid  storm  and  shipwreck,  beam'd  the  Star  of 
Bethlehem. 

Nothing  now  remains  for  lifetime  —  take  my  last,  my  fond 

farewell ; 
If  a  heart  like  mine  can  bless,  Heaven  bless  thee  more 

than  heart  can  tell ! 
Grant  that  all  my  dark  experience  may  be  imaged  back  in 

light, 
"When  reflected  from  the  sunny  waters  of  thy  spirit  bright ; 
Till  thy  race  on  earth  is  finish'd,  and  ye  hasten  to  complete 
Those  our  mother's  vision  saw,  a  blessed  band  at  Jesus' 

feet. 
And  when  I  am  dead,  dear  brother,  lay  me  by  the  sacred 

yew 
That  o'ershades  this  heart's  beloved.     Fare  thee  well  — 

adieu  —  adieu. 

Trinity  College,  1845. 


THE   THINGS    THAT  ARE. 

*  O  kOTLV   OV  OVTG)£. 

The  closing  of  a  stormy  night :  —  the  wrecks 

Of  many  tempests  stranded  on  the  shore 

Of  Time's  mysterious  sea :  —  and  yet  no  break, 

No  far  blue  vista  in  the  storm-tost  drifts 

Of  clouds,  that  gather  blackness  ever  and  aye 

Close  round  the  wild  horizon.     If  a  star 

With  trembling  light,  and  that  the  light  of  tears, 

Gleams  for  a  moment  through  the  vault  of  gloom, 

The  swift  clouds,  envying  Hope's  sweet  messenger, 

Quick  shifting  dim  its  radiance,  and  the  void 

Of  darkness  reigns  supreme.     Perchance,  anon, 

A  meteor  with  its  dazzling  train  shoots  by, 

And  hurries  into  nothingness  —  a  dream 

Of  dying  human  glory  —  a  bright  torch 

To  light  ambition  to  its  starless  tomb. 


THE    THIK68    THAT    ARE.  51 

Once  more  the  eye  looks  up,  as  if  in  fear 

Of  that  which  shall  be,  for  the  lightnings  now 

Are  all  abroad  upon  the  winds  of  night, 

Writing  in  vivid  characters  of  flame, 

Truths  words  might  never  utter,  truths  intense, 

Of  man's  strange  destiny  and  future  worlds 

Prophetic  :  brief  their  tale,  as  it  is  bright; 

And  after  them,  dim  thunder  sounds  far  off, 

Like  waters,  or  the  wail  of  nations,  come 

From  the  lone  caverns  of  chill  shadowy  mountains, 

In  fitful  bursts  upon  the  startled  ear. 

All  speak  of  woes  and  tempests  past  and  coming.  .  .  . 

Is  such  the  sky  that  stretches  o'er  the  world  ? 
Fool,  fool,  —  it  cannot  be — just  close  thine  eye 
And  open  it  anew,  and  o'er  its  sweep 
Will  rise,  in  faery  pageantries  of  joy, 
Life-pictures  diverse  far :  young  pleasure's  train, 
Dances,  and  revelries,  and  reckless  smiles, 
All  cluster'd  there  beneath  a  cloudless  sky :  — 
None  know  it  is  but  painted  o'er  their  heads, 
And  that  the  true  dread  heavens  roll  rife  with  storms. 
Tush,  tush,  bend  down  thine  ear  and  list  again : 


52  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

I  listen'd,  and  the  dulcet  voice  of  song, 
And  music  manifold  of  various  spells, 
And  the  yet  sweeter  tones  of  flattering  hope, 
Whispering  of  peace  and  pleasures  without  fail, 
Smiled  at  my  fears,  and  ask'd  me  tauntingly, 
If  I  too  smiled  not.     But  a  deeper  voice 
Like  that  of  thunder,  utter'd  answer  —  Peace! 
There  is  no  peace,  and  echoed  still  —  no  peace  : 
And  all  the  after  sounds  of  mirth,  that  came 
Upon  the  moaning  breezes,  ever  seem'd 
To  sicken  on  my  weary  soul,  like  things 
Of  little  moment  to  a  dying  man. 

Hast  thou  not  often  at  lone  hours  of  midnight, 
When  the  vain  troublous  world  is  still,  and  thou 
Art  there  amidst  the  universe  alone, 
Alone  with  visions  of  the  vast  unseen, 
In  the  stern  grandeur  of  eternal  truth 
Looming  around  thee,  turn'd  thy  spirit's  eye 
Inward  upon  itself,  and  in  a  tone 
Tremulous  for  fear  of  answer  unforeseen, 
Ask'd  thyself  what  thy  being's  being  is  ? 
Aye,  what  that  strange  mysterious  thing  self  is  ? 


THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE.  53 

And  all  things  seem  to  fall  from  off  thee,  like 
The  leaves  of  autumn,  and  the  earth  to  sink, 
The  stars  to  fade,  and  all  tilings  be  as  dreams. 
Oh  !  then  the  solitude  of  solitudes, 
The  feeling  of  unutter'd  weariness, 
Like  shipwreck'd  mariner  cast  far  adrift 
Upon  a  desert  ocean,  with  its  void 
Crushes  the  heart:  the  spirit  faints:  till  soon 
The  stern  conviction  that  thou  canst  not  stay 

Heartless,  and  homeless,  and  companionless, 
That  struggle  unto  death  thou  must  for  life, 
Floods  all  thy  soul ;  and  with  a  sudden  spring 
Of  blended  fear,  and  hope,  and  confidence, 
Thou  castest  all  that  storm-tost  thing,  thyself, 
Upon  the  blessed  certainty  of  God : 
And  clingest  unto  Him,  with  energies 
Lent  by  despair  —  the  only  anchor  left; 
If  that  could  fail,  all  others  were  but  straws. 
Yet,  clinging  there,  a  voice  within  thee  tells, 
That  cannot  fail  thee :  'tis  thy  Father's  hand. 
Poor  child,  He  loves  thee  :  love  can  never  fail. 
And  then  all  grows  serene  like  light,  and  Peace 
Comes  stealing  o'er  the  waters,  and  aloft 
Faith  rises,  Phoenix-like,  amid  the  wreck. 


54  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

So  when  that  mystic  undertone,  no  peace, 
Like  the  dull  clangor  of  a  muffled  bell 
Rousing  the  sleep  of  a  beleaguer'd  town, 
First  mingled  with  those  revelries  of  song, 
Louder  and  louder  pealing  (whether  they 
Wax'd  fainter,  or  its  tone  the  clearer  grew), 
Until  I  seem'd  to  hear  nor  lyre  nor  dance, 
But  only  that  prophetic  wailing ;  then 
My  spirit  lost  all  consciousness  of  earth, 
And  listlessly  I  counted  as  they  fell 
The  beatings  of  the  heavy  clock  of  Time. 
I  saw  and  slept,  and  sleeping  still  I  heard ; 
And  in  my  sleep  my  lips  re-echoed  ever 
After  that  mighty  pendulum  of  Fate 
Words  that  it  utter'd  palpably,  — now  —  then : 
And  then  still  follow'd  now,  and  still  the  now 
Preceded  then,  eternally  the  same. 
Save  when  at  intervals  of  mystic  length, 
The  hours  of  those  illimitable  ages, 
I  heard  a  hammer  strike  some  viewless  sphere  ; 
And  straightway  through  the  universe  of  worlds, 
In  varying  number  but  in  tone  the  same, 
Peal'd  forth  the  everlasting  answer,  "  gone? 


THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE.  55 

And  is  there  nothing  then  that  fleets  not  thus  ? 

Unconsciously  I  murmur'd.     At  the  words, 

Came  crowding  on  my  spirit's  inward  eye 

A  thousand  sunny  visions  —  mine  heart  leapt 

To  welcome  them  —  for  there  were  cloudless  scenes 

Of  childhood's  happy  rambles ;  there  were  thoughts 

That  blended  with  the  burning  dreams  of  youth, 

And  like  the  sunbeams  to  the  sun  flew  back 

As  to  their  early  home,  where  gushes  ever 

That  fount  within  a  fountain,  human  love ; 

When  music  held  her   calm  unruffled  spell, 

Or  trembled  into  sorrow,  or  did  wail 

With  deepest  spirit  storms,  and  these  again 

Did  soothe  to  rest  in  wondrous  magic  wise. 

Childhood  and  youth  rose  thus,  and  thus  laid  out 
Their  rosy  landscapes  at  my  feet :  I  look'd 
Once  more,  —  once  more,  —  a  moment  they  were 

gone. 
I  could  have  wept  their  sojourn  was  so  brief; 
But  ere  the  tear  fell  from  my  eye,  behold 
New  thoughts,  new  burning  feelings,  new  desires 
Came  rushing  o'er  me :  all  the  streams  of  love 


56  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARK. 

From  that  young  crystal  fountain,  music-like, 

Flow'd  a  majestic  river  through  the  vale 

Of  life ;  and  I  was  wandering  by  its  banks, 

And  often  paused  my  footstep,  often  gazed 

Into  what  seem'd  a  nether  sky,  where  heaven 

With  its  unfathomable  mysteries, 

In  characters  of  soften'd  loveliness, 

Was  imaged  in  the  watery  mirror.     Oh 

I  could  have  linger'd  by  that  stream,  methought, 

For  ever  and  for  ever,  but  its  flow 

Grew  faint  and  fainter  still,  till  all  was  air, 

And  viewless  winds,  and  unremaining  dreams. 

Yes,  I  might  tell  for  hours  what  there  and  then 

Arose  and  vanish'd,  till  my  bosom  ached 

And  all  my  heart  was  pain'd  within  me :  friends 

They  were  and  brothers,  those  light  spirit-scenes, 

For  a  few  passing  moments  ;  but  oh,  when 

My  heart  was  going  out  towards  them,  when 

Like  bright  homes  nestling  in  a  vale  they  seem'd 

Where  I  long  while  might  linger,  as  I  mused, 

Their  cloud  foundations  sway'd  before  the  wind ; 

For  they  were  built  upon  the  mists  and  winds, 

And  perishable  were,  and  brief  as  they. 


THE    THINGS    THAT   ARE.  57 

As  one,  awaking  from  a  glorious  train 
Of  dreams  and  phantasies  at  dead  of  night, 
Looks  forth  upon  the  darkness  for  a  while, 
Musing  aghast ;  as  if  he  thought  straightway 
Another  image,  beautiful  as  those 
That  have  pass'd  by  him  in  their  loveliness, 
Would  rise  and  fill  the  void  of  gasping  thought  : 
But  when  the  listless  moments  steal  away 
Unvision'd  all  and  dreamless,  doth  start  up 
And  question  of  himself  what  forms  they  were  ? 
And  what  he  is,  and  where,  and  whence,  and  how  ? 
So  I,  as  panting  to  lay  hold  on  that 
Which  would  not  vanish  at  my  touch  like  snow, 
Struggled  to  cast  myself  from  out  myself 
In  secret  prayer  and  agony  of  soul ; 
And  though  in  darkness,  onward  felt  my  way, 
If  haply  I  might  find  a  rock  whereon 
To  stay  my  weary  foot ;  for  all  that  once 
I  deem'd  substantial  had  proved  light  as  air, 
And  fragile  as  the  foam  on  slippery  waves. 
The  fashions  of  this  world,  its  feasts  and  songs, 
To  my  incredulous  gaze  seem'd  planted  now 
Upon  the  words — no  peace.     The  course  of  Time, 

3* 


58  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

Its  seeming  endless  cycles,  its  vast  spans, 

Stretching  like  new  horizons  day  by  day 

Before  a  journeying  traveller,  reaching  far 

Athwart  the  clouded  Past  and  clouded  Future, 

In  countless  maze  of  circles,  as  I  gazed, 

All  rested  on  one  shifting  sliding  point, 

Which  men  call  Present,  which  was  ever  gone 

Though  still  renewVl  like  shower  drops  in  a  stream. 

And  when  with  sickening  soul  I  turn'd  away 

From  all  tlie  unrealities  of  earth, 

And  the  brief  phantoms  of  historic  worlds, 

To  what  I  deem'd  were  everlasting  things, 

And  truths  that  borrow'd  immortality 

Of  deeper  things  than  mortal  hand  might  touch 

And  mortal  foot  explore :  lo,  these  likewise 

Had  vanish'd  :  darkness  wrapt  my  steps  in  gloom. 

Yet  there  are  things  that  in  the  darkness  live 

A  life  intense  and  vivid  as  in  light. 

Prayer  then  can  wrestle  on  victoriously, 

And  Faith  without  suspicion  lean  her  hand 

Upon  a  viewless  anchor  :  there  is  One 

To  whom  the  night  translucent  seems  as  day, 

And  though  unseen,  I  felt  His  presence  filling 


THE    THINGS    THAT   ARE.  59 

The  vast  and  vacant  chambers  of  my  soul. 

And  one  by  one,  as  wrapt  in  silvery  mist 

That  caught  their  diamond  brightness,  like  the  stars 

Of  twilight  visiting  a  lonely  vale, 

The  words  of  promise  beauteously  brake  forth 

And  kindled  into  radiance.     For  a  while 

Wonder  and  rapture  reft  my  soul  of  thought, 

And  left  me  tranced  as  a  child  who  first 

Stands  on  the  shore  of  blue  phosphoric  waves 

At  midnight :  but  ere  long  the  dews  of  heaven 

Shed  balm  upon  my  fever'd  spirit:  all 

Was  peace :  and  the  pure  atmosphere  of  truth 

Around  me,  like  an  infant's  holy  dream, 

Diffused  a  light  and  beauty  all  its  own. 

Ah !  words  can  never  tell  my  bliss,  for  I 

Had  found  what  my  soul  long'd  for ;  I  had  found 

My  spirit's  home,  my  Father's  presence,  found 

Wherewith  to  sate  my  bosom's  infinite; 

And  He  was  smiling  on  me,  and  His  peace 

Was  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  that  peace  divine 

Which  passes  understanding.     I  did  weep, 

But  they  were  tears  of  joy  :  I  sigh'd,  but  'twas 

The  fulness  of  a  heart  that  overflow'd, 


60  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

Nor  otherwise  could  utter  what  within 
Was  hidden.     Long  my  musing  lasted :  long 
I  held  intense  communion  with  my  God. 

Oh,  hast  thou  known  the  yearnings  of  delight 

It  is  to  commune  with  a  tender  father, 

To  cast  the  burden  of  a  host  of  cares 

Upon  his  father-heart,  to  feel  thyself 

His  child,  and  in  that  blessed  privilege 

To  ask  his  sympathy,  his  care,  his  love, 

And  with  a  deep  familiar  earnestness 

Blend  all  thy  thoughts  with  his,  with  filial  fear 

Yet  fearless  in  affection  ?     If  thou  hast 

Thou  knowest  an  emblem,  faint  indeed  and  dim, 

But  yet  the  brightest,  loveliest  earth  affords 

Of  the  joy-fountains  gushing  in  the  heart 

Of  one,  who,  from  the  world  a  fugitive, 

And  from  despair,  and  darkness,  and  thick  doubt, 

Finds  there  is  yet  one  bosom  where  to  cast 

His  sorrows,  and  a  Father's  heart  that  glows 

For  him,  and  yearns  to  greet  him  as  a  child. 

Entranced,  imparadised  in  joy,  I  knelt 

There  at  the  footstool  of  my  Father's  throne, 


THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE.  61 

My  Father's  and  my  God's,  and  from  His  smile 
Drank  life,  drank  beauty,  drank  intensest  love, 
From  love,  and  life,  and  beauty's  fountain-head. 
I  may  not  tell  ye  more ;  but  when  that  dream 
Of  glory  (if  ye  reckon  those  things  dreams 
That  have  a  deep  and  vast  reality 
Beyond  all  certainties  of  sight  and  sense, 
As  reaching  the  unseen  eternal  world) 
Had  pass'd  me,  like  a  golden  sunset  cloud, 
My  soul  was  as  a  sea  of  light,  whereon 
No  grief  did  cast  a  shadow;  such  as  oft 
Thou  mayst  have  seen  within  a  summer  sky, 
Sleeping  untroubled  in  calm  mellow  light, 
Above  the  spot  where  the  sun's  chariot  wheels 
Sank  slowly  into  ocean.     Yes,  it  pass'd, 
But  yet  I  felt  it  was  my  own  for  ever, 
A  wealth,  a  rapture,  an  inheritance. 
And  quickly  I  bethought  me  once  again 
Of  all  those  airy  scenes  of  young  delight, 
That  whilome,  as  I  gazed,  had  pass'd  away, 
Or  seem'd  to  pass,  like  phantom  soulless  things. 
And  a  voice  spake  within  me,  "  Thou  hast  found, 
By  finding  out  thy  spirit's  home  in  God, 


62  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

A  master  key  of  truth  that  shall  unlock 

The  thousand  wards  of  earthly  mysteries ; 

And  shew  thee  unto  whom  alone,  the  good, 

The  true,  the  noble,  pure,  and  beautiful, 

Whatever  seems  to  mortals  loveliest, 

Can  have  or  claim  an  immortality 

Of  goodness,  truth,  or  beauty  —  'tis  to  those 

Whose  hearts  are  right,  whose  beings  one  with  God, 

Who  in  Him  find  their  all :  to  other  men, 

The  beauteous  things  that  pass  them  by  on  earth, 

Oh,  yes,  they  are  immortal,  but  it  is 

An  immortality  of  deathless  woe, 

That  haunts  them  with  the  sting  of  lost  delight." 

And  once  again,  retracing  all  my  steps, 

I  gazed  upon  those  lovely  scenes  of  life  ; 

Those  passion  fountains  of  unfathom'd  depth, 

Those  springs  of  human  love,  those  beautiful  homes 

Of  friendship  and  affection,  which  the  dove 

Of  Peace  broods  over  evermore,  and  there 

Doth  shelter  underneath  her  sacred  wing 

A  father's  heart,  a  mother's,  or  a  child's, 

Those  dearest  types  of  heaven ;  and  lo,  they  rose 


THE   THINGS    THAT    ARE.  63 

In  tenfold  loveliness  before  me,  rose 

More  passionately  beautiful  than  ever ; 

And  oh,  the  blessed  change !  —  they  vanish'd  not. 

At  first  my  faithless  heart  grew  chill  with  fear, 

And  trembled  as  the  moments  swift  flew  by, 

And  the  far  beatings  of  the  clock  of  time 

Again  struck  dimly  on  mine  ear,  but  soon 

Faith  whisper'd,  "  They  are  amaranthine  now, 

Thou  livest  now  'mid  everlasting  things  — 

Fear  not :  what  once  was  of  the  present,  soon 

Is  number'd  with  the  past :  what  once  was  now, 

Let  one  brief  moment  pass  away,  is  then  : 

And  Time  may  count  these  hours  and  cycles,  gone, 

But  Faith  hath  vanquish'd  Time :  and  she  beholds 

The  things  that  have  been,  being,  and  to  be." 

In  peace,  my  spirit  linger'd  on  the  scenes 
Of  her  eternal  Past :  —  in  peace  I  mused 
On  those  delicious  spots  of  earth,  those  fair 
Oases  in  the  wilderness  of  life, 
Those  isles  too  often  few  and  far  between, 
Emblems  of  home  upon  the  homeless  sea, 
Those  Edens  blooming  in  a  ruin'd  world, 


64  THE    THINGS    THAT    ARE. 

Those  sunbeams  'mid  the  storm-clouds  all  astray, 
Those  gushing  springs  within  a  thirsty  land, 
Those  stars  that  startle  us  like  friends  at  night, 
Those  blessed  things  so  inexpressibly  dear, 
There,  there  I  mused  —  there  wander'd  like  a  child 
Through  flowerets  all  his  own  ;  and  when  at  length 
The  cycle  was  complete,  and  through  the  heavens 
Thrice  peal'd  the  everlasting  answer,  Gone, 
I  look'd  upon  those  scenes  of  far  delight, 
And  there  unfading  and  unchanged  they  lay 
In  the  clear  cloudless  region  of  the  Past, 
Imperishably  shrined  in  love  and  light. 

Trinity  College,  1845. 


SAMSON. 

[The  story  of  Samson  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  Manoah,  who  relates  it  to 
his  attendant  shortly  be/ore  his  death.] 

"  Ibi  demum  niorte  quievit." 

Virgil.  JEneid,  ix.  446. 

Give  me  thy  hand,  brave  stripling,  for  mine  eyes 
Are  dim  with  age  and  many  sorrows :  rise 
And  lead  me  to  that  rocky  seat,  whereon 
Beams  the  full  radiance  of  the  summer  sun ; 
And  basking  in  his  glory,  ere  he  laves 
His  chariot  wheels  in  yonder  western  waves,  — 
Again  my  frozen  life-streams  onward  flowing, 
Again  my  heart  with  manhood's  pulses  glowing,  — 
I'll  grant  thy  eager  and  long-sought  request, 
Before  I  sink  to  silence  and  to  rest. 
Yes,  thou  hast  urged  me  oftentimes  to  tell 
How  my  child  Samson  lived  and  fought  and  fell ; 


66  SAMSON. 

By  all  the  silent  pleading  of  those  years 

Spent  with  an  old  man  in  this  vale  of  tears, 

By  all  the  brooding  thunder-clouds  of  war 

Skirting  the  confines  of  our  land  afar, 

And  by  thy  hopes  to  light  the  latent  fire 

Of  thy  young  heart  at  Samson's  funeral  pyre ; 

I  felt  thy  silent  longings  ;  but  my  heart, 

Though  school'd  in  grief,  refused  the  mourner's  part 

I  could  not  tell  thee  without  tears  his  story  — 

I  could  not  weep  o'er  Samson's  tomb  of  glory :  — 

But  now  I  feel,  I  know  my  hour  is  nigh. 

Who  weeps  with  heaven  before  him  ?  fix  thine  eye 

On  mine :  the  sun  shines  cloudless :  it  is  well : 

Now  listen  to  an  old  man's  tale,  and  tell 

The  after  centuries  when  I  am  gone, 

So  spake  Manoah  of  his  only  son. 

Yes,  the  dark  clouds  are  breaking  from  my  sight, 

My  childhood  floats  before  me :  bathed  in  light 

Again  T  see  my  fond  parental  home 

Smiling  in  beauty,  and  again  I  roam 

Its  green  and  quiet  pastures.     Like  a  dream 

Flow'd  on  apace  with  me  life's  early  stream, 


SAMSON.  67 

And  roughen'd  as  it  flow'd :  for  vengeance  fell 
On  guilty  and  apostate  Israel.1 
And  we,  who  sate  beneath  our  household  vine, 
Fled  for  long  years  before  the  Philistine, 
And  groan'd  to  see  the  spoiler's  ruthless  hand 
Crush  the  fair  promise  of  our  holy  land. 

Then  was  it,  in  that  dark  and  cloudy  day 

When  Israel  wander'd  shepherdless  astray, 

That  first  I  saw  the  partner  of  my  life, 

And  sought  her  hand,  and  she  became  my  wife. 

No  festal  banquet  graced  our  nuptial  eve, 

No  virgins,  chaplet-crown'd,  came  forth  to  weave 

The  dance  before  us,  or  with  sacred  hymn 

Tended  us  home :  —  but  on  the  mountains  dim, 

In  silence  and  in  solitude  at  night, 

Our  parents  ratified  the  solemn  rite. 

They  calPd  the  stars  to  witness,  and  the  rills 

Made  answer  to  the  everlasting  hills  — 

Espousals  meet  for  Samson's  parents !  years 

Of  brief  tranquillity,  and  many  tears 

1  "  The  children  of  Israel  did  evil  again  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord;  and 
the  Lord  delivered  them  into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines  forty  years."  — 
Judg.  xiii.  1. 


68  SAMSON. 

Pass'd  silently.     But  Heaven  who  gave  the  bride 
The  pledge  of  bridal  blessedness  denied ; 
My  wife  was  barren  and  bare  not : 1  alas, 
Too  oft  I  saw  the  cloud  of  anguish  pass 
Across  her  lovely  brow,  and  often  read, 
Albeit  not  a  whisper'd  word  she  said, 
The  passionate  prayer  of  Rachel  in  her  eye, 
"  My  husband,  give  me  children,  or  I  die/'  2 

The  foe  was  seeking  other  fields  of  prey ; 
Our  home  began  to  smile  anew  ;  the  day 
Was  wearing  into  twilight ;  when  I  heard 
My  wife's  quick  footstep  on  the  verdant  sward. 
"  Manoah,"  with  excited  joy  she  spake, 
"  At  thy  command  by  yonder  wooded  brake 
I  watch'd  the  flock,  and  on  the  fountain's  stone 
Was  seated,  musing  as  I  deem'd  alone, 
When  on  a  sudden  I  was  made  aware 
That  some  one  stood  beside  me  ;  —  without  care, 
Deeming  thou  needest  me,  my  eyes  I  raised, 
And  on  the  messenger  unconscious  gazed : 

1  "And  his  wife  was  barren,  and  bare  not."  —  Judg.  xiii.  2. 

2  Gen.  xxx.  1. 


SAMSON.  69 

But  when  I  saw  hiin  I  was  troubled  :  —  white 
Was  his  apparel  as  transparent  light, 
And,  like  the  visions  of  prophetic  trance, 
The  awful  beauty  of  his  countenance. 
My  heart  misgave  me  :  —  was  he  from  above  ?  — 
But  fear  and  wonder  both  were  lost  in  love 
When  from  his  lips  the  blessed  tidings  fell 
Of  bliss  to  me,  and  hope  to  Israel :  — 
i  Lo,  thou  art  barren,  and  thou  bearest  not ; 
Woman,  bewail  no  more  thy  childless  lot : 
Behold  thou  shalt  conceive  and  bear  a  child, 
A  Nazarite  devoted,  undefined, 
Who  while  his  holy  hair  unrazor'd  grows 
Shall  save  his  people  from  their  taunting  foes/  " 
And  as  in  thought  she  drank  the  promised  cup 
Of  motherly  endearment,  love  lit  up 
Her  face  with  pure  delight ;  she  could  not  weep 
Though  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  but  all  the  deep 
Expressions  of  a  wife's,  a  woman's  soul 
Over  her  face  in  crimson  blushes  stole. 

Faith  wrestled  in  my  heart,  and  won.     I  felt 
That  God  had  spoken  to  her,  and  we  knelt 


70  SAMSON. 

Together  suppliant  before  His  throne 

And  made  our  souls'  harmonious  longings  known. 

So  ever  used  we,  and  though  often  cast 

As  exiles  on  the  desert's  howling  waste, 

Or  nightly  lurking  where  the  secret  wave 

Murmur'd  but  shone  not  in  the  starless  cave, 

Or  kneeling  on  our  fathers'  burial  sod, 

One  utterance  told  our  yearning  thoughts  to  God. 

We  pray'd,  "  O  Lord,  parental  wisdom,  grant." 
He  heard  us  ;  and  the  heavenly  visitant 
As  she  was  seated  in  the  lonely  field 
Again  his  glory  and  his  grace  reveal'd. 
Straightway  she  ran  and  call'd  me  ;  love  divine 
Shone  calmly  in  his  human  eye  benign, 
And  when  I  ask'd  him  of  our  promised  child 
How  we  should  train  him  for  the  Lord,  he  smiled 
And  spake  so  graciously  that  I  began 
To  feel  towards  him  as  a  brother  man. 
He  only  veil'd  his  brightness  —  when  I  pray'd 
That  he  would  tarry  where  the  grateful  shade 
Fell  on  the  glebe  from  some  o'erhanging  rock, 
The  while  I  brought  a  firstling  from  my  flock. 


SAMSON.  71 

He  answer'd,  "  If  a  firstling  thou  wilt  bring, 
Then  offer  to  the  Lord  thine  offering." 
And  when  astonish'd  I  besought  his  name, 
He  still  repress'd  my  boldness.1     Soon  the  flame 
Is  kindled,  and  the  victim's  life-blood  flows, 
And  sweet  perfumes  of  sacrifice  arose ; 
But  as  they  wreath'd  towards  the  azure  sky, 
Behold  the  angel  of  the  Lord  drew  nigh, 
And  slowly  rising  with  the  incense-cloud 
Flame-like  ascended  up  to  heaven.     We  bow'd 
Our  faces  to  the  earth  on  bended  knee, 
And  trembled  at  the  sight  exceedingly ; 
For  when  I  saw  the  fiery  track  he  trod, 
This  is,  methought,  none  other  than  that  God 
Who  spake  to  Noah  and  to  Abraham, 
And  said  to  Moses,  "  I  am  that  lam;" 
Who  led  our  fathers  through  the  ocean  deeps, 
Which  stood  at  His  command  in  rock-like  heaps ; 2 
Who,  wrapt  in  clouds  of  darkness  and  of  storm, 
Rent  Sinai's  cliffs  before  His  viewless  form ;  — 
And  could  He  oar  presumptive  eye  forgive, 

1  Judg.  xiii.  18:  u  Seeing  it  is  secret;  "  margin,  "wonderful." 
Cf.  Isa.  ix.  6. 

2  "  The  floods  stood  upright  as  an  heap."  —  Exod  xv.  8. 


72  SAMSON. 

Who l  threaten'd,  "  None  shall  see  My  face  and  live  "  ? 

But  then  my  wife's  unwavering  faith  subdued 

My  struggling  spirit's  dark  disquietude : 

I  could  not  tremble,  when  I  look'd  on  her, 

The  mother  of  our  land's  deliverer  : 

And  still  I  see  in  memory's  vista  now 

The  calm  affiance  of  her  cloudless  brow. 

And  dost  thou  ask  me  who  it  was  that  came, 

And  rose  celestial  in  that  altar  flame  ? 

I  shall  behold  Him,  but  not  now  —  the  Seed 

Who,  woman-born,  shall  bruise  the  serpent's  head ; 

He  whom  the  dying  patriarch  divine 

Foretold  should  come  of  Judah's  royal  line ; 

Whom  Balaam  saw  in  vision  from  afar, 

Israel's  bright  sceptre,  Jacob's  morning  star : 

Who  dawning  on  this  world  of  wreck  and  crime 

In  the  ripe  fulness  of  predestined  time, 

Not  with  such  transitory  beams  of  light 

As  only  greet  some  favor'd  prophet's  sight, 

But  born  albeit  of  no  mortal  birth, 

Shall  stand  incarnate  God  upon  the  earth. 

1  Exod.  xxxiii.  20. 


SAMSON.  73 

The  old  man  paused  awhile  —  his  silent  gaze 

Seem'd  rapt  in  far  hopes  of  the  latter  days, 

And  mute  his  ear,  as  though  the  evening  breeze 

Grew  vocal  with  angelic  melodies, 

The  echo  of  that  everlasting  song 

Which  swells  through  all  creation.     But  ere  long 

Back,  as  athirst  for  sympathy,  he  brought 

His  spirit  from  that  glowing  world  of  thought, 

And  with  a  deeper  mellowness  of  tone, 

As  though  communing  with  himself,  spake  on. 

My  child,  my  child,  my  loved  and  only  son ! 
I  weep  not  for  thee,  Samson :  thou  art  one 
Of  that  great  army  of  the  living  God, 
Who  militant  by  faith  to  glory  trod  ; 
Who  out  of  weakness  valiant  wax'd  in  fight, 
And  singly  turn'd  the  alien  camps  to  flight : 
Still  march  they  on,  a  mighty  victor  host 
Whose  foremost  ranks  the  stream  of  death  have  cross'd, 
And  calmly  resting,  where  the  wicked  cease 
From  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  peace, 
Await  in  bliss  expectant,  till  the  last 
Lone  band  of  faithful  ones  hath  safely  pass'd. 

4 


74  SAMSON. 

Enough  for  me,  my  Samson  in  his  day- 
Bare  a  bright  standard  'mid  that  vast  array, 
And  heard,  I  doubt  not,  when  his  race  was  run, 
"  Servant  and  soldier  of  the  Lord,  well  done ! " 
I  weep  not  for  my  child  —  I  knew  his  star 
Had  mark'd  him  for  the  stormy  ranks  of  war, 
And  read  his  future,  when  he  lay  at  rest 
A  folded  blossom  on  his  mother's  breast ; 
Who  often  bade  me  note  his  strength  of  limb, 
And  fondly  ask'd,  "  Was  ever  babe  like  him  ?  " 
And  when  in  after  years  upon  my  knee 
He  sate  in  childhood's  playful  prattling  glee, 
Still  would  he  ask  with  beaming  eye  and  face, 
"  Tell  me  some  story  of  our  fathers'  race." 
But  chief  my  words  his  mute  attention  caught, 
What  time  I  told  how  God  for  Israel  fought, 
When  underneath  the  silent  strokes  of  prayer 
Proud  Amalek  was  smitten  with  despair ; 
When  Canaan's  banded  armies  fled  amain 
Routed  and  ruin'd  on  Megiddo's  plain ; 
When  Deborah  awoke  her  prcan  song, 
And  Barak  captive  led  captivity  along. 
But  when  I  told  how  mighty  Gideon  rose 
And  saved  our  bleeding  country  from  her  foes, 


SAMSON.  75 

Fronting  the  hosts  of  darkness  and  of  death, 
Clad  in  the  panoply  of  prayer  and  faith 
Invincible  —  it  seem'd  as  though  my  child 
Had  found  a  kindred  spirit  —  sternly  he  smiled, 
And  shook,  as  shakes  the  storm  dark  ocean's  froth, 
His  unshorn  locks  in  sign  of  kindling  wrath, 
And  ask'd  impatient  if  the  hour  drew  nigh 
When  he  might  likewise  rush  to  strife  and  victory. 

The  Lord  Jehovah  bless'd  him  :  and  he  grew, 
As  grows  the  lordly  cedar,  fed  with  dew 
From  heaven,  and  nourish'd  by  the  early  sun, 
Upon  the  snowy  peaks  of  Lebanon  : 
Soon  swept  the  wild  blasts  o'er  him,  and  the  cloud 
Of  thunder  and  of  storm  his  branches  bow'd ; 
In  vain  —  for,  laughing  at  their  idle  shocks, 
His  strength  was  in  the  everlasting  rocks : 
And  when  bereft,  beleaguer'd,  and  betray'd, 
At  length  he  fell,  his  vast  and  ruining 1  shade 
Its  crushing  devastation  scatter'd  wide 
On  Philistina  in  her  hour  of  pride. 

1  "Heaven  ruining  from  heaven." 

Par.  Lost,  vi.  868. 


76  SAMSON. 

The  Lord  Jehovah  bless'd  him :  few  could  brook, 

Of  friends  or  foes,  his  calm  defiant  look, 

And,  though  to  us  all  grace  and  gentleness, 

Few  the  high  conflicts  of  his  soul  could  guess. 

Oh,  how  his  mother  loved  him,  how  he  loved 

His  an^el  mother  !  —  I  have  seen  him  moved 

To  tears,  whenever  by  our  lonely  hearth 

She  told  the  awful  secret  of  his  birth, 

And  with  her  folded  hands  besought  that  he 

Might  never  shame  his  glorious  destiny, 

But  without  lingering  thought  of  home  or  her 

Be  unto  death  our  land's  deliverer. 

Years  glided  on  apace  ;  —  with  holy  awe 
His  ripening  strength  we  noted,  and  we  saw 
At  times  a  lofty  grandeur  in  his  mien 
Of  high  emprize,  so  tranquilly  serene, 
That  told  no  human  impulse  moved  his  soul 
Obedient.1     Under  that  divine  control, 
Upon  the  mountain  heights  companionless, 
Or  in  the  waste  and  howling  wilderness, 

1  "The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  began  to  move  him  at  times  in  the  camp  of 
Dan."  — Judg.  xiii.  25. 


SAMSON.  77 

Far  off  he  wander'd,  meditative,  lone, 
Musing  stern  deeds  of  vengeance  all  his  own, 
Or,  burning  with  impatient  hopes,  began 
To  join  his  comrades  in  the  camp  of  Dan. 

Alas,  he  found  no  breast  amid  his  peers 

That  shared  his  thoughts  of  glory.     Crush'd  by  years 

Of  craven  flight,  or  grinding  servitude, 

The  lion  heart  of  Israel  was  subdued, 

All  save  his  own  unconquerable  will, 

That  wrestled  on  in  prayer  and  trusted  still. 

Alone  he  went  to  Timnath,  inly  driven  — 
But  mark  how  fathomless  the  ways  of  Heaven ! 
There,  as  he  lurk'd  amid  the  laden  vines, 
He  saw  a  daughter  of  the  Philistines, 
A  virgin  fair  as  light  to  look  upon, 
Who  wander'd  in  the  careless  evening.     One 
She  was,  who,  born  of  that  accursed  stock, 
Grew  as  a  heath-flower  on  the  barren  rock. 

And  Samson's  spirit  clave  to  hers  ;  —  but  when 
He  sought  impetuously  our  home  again, 
And  told  us  of  her  alien  race  and  name, 


78  SAMSON. 

The  full  heart  of  his  mother  glow'd  with  shame, 
And  sternly  spake  she  :  —  "Is  there  never  one 
Of  all  the  daughters  of  our  kin,  my  son, 
Not  one  with  whom  in  wedlock  thou  couldst  dwell 
Of  all  the  far-famed  maids  of  Israel, 
That  thou  hast  chosen  out  a  stranger  bride 
From  our  uncircumcised  foes  ?  "     He  sigh'd, 
"  And  look'd  to  heaven  in  silence ;  not  a  shade 
Of  earthly  passion  on  his  dark  cheek  play'd, 
But  hopes  of  battle  and  of  victory 
Wrought  in  his  soul  and  kindled  in  his  eye, 
Till,  as  he  turn'd  and  look'd  on  us  and  smiled, 
The  parents'  spirit  quail'd  before  their  child ; 
Or  rather  in  that  Presence  he  adored, 
Though  then  we  knew  not,  all  was  of  the  Lord. 

I  know  it  now,  I  know  it :  thou  hast  seen 
The  planets  glide  along  their  paths  serene, 
Diffusing  softly  their  benignant  light 
Over  the  stillness  of  the  summer  night, 
While  steals  from  every  pendant  orb  of  gold 
The  music  of  their  silence, — when  behold 
A  meteor,  with  its  dark  forebodings  blent, 
Flames  far  athwart  the  troubled  firmament, 


SAMSON.  79 

And  to  the  feeble  ken  of  mortals  mars 
The  changeless  march  and  order  of  the  stars ; 
But  both,  methinks,  to  His  omniscient  eye, 
Who  scans  the  cycles  of  eternity, 
Pursue  their  destined  path,  and  both  fulfil 
The  fiat  of  His  everlasting  will. 

And  such  was  Samson's  mission,  as  I  deem'd, 
Which  then  so  dark  and  so  mysterious  seem'd, 
For  God  was  with  him ;  wheresoe'er  he  press'd, 
His  spirit  moved  him,  and  His  presence  bless'd. 
Bear  witness,  Timnath,  when  on  love  intent 
A  lion  like  a  kid  unarm'd  he  rent, 
And  from  its  swarming  carcase  subtly  wrought 
That  deadly  and  disastrous  riddle,  fraught 
With  woe.     Bear  witness,  widow'd  Askelon, 
Reft  of  thy  children,  God  was  with  my  son. 
Bear  witness,  Etham's  cloud-engirdled  crest, 
Where  eagle-like  he  built  his  rocky  nest 
Aloft,  alone,  with  God  communing  there 
In  solitary  thought  and  secret  prayer. 
Bear  witness  of  that  hour,  Philistia,  when 
Besieged  by  foes  and  faithless  countrymen, 


80  SAMSON. 

Arm'd  only  with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass, 

He  felFd  thy  choicest  warriors  like  the  grass, 

And  smote  through  brazen  helms  and  plated  mail 

A  thousand  men  in  Ramath-Lehi's  vale : 

And  when  his  spirit  fail'd  at  eventide 

Drank  from  the  heaven-sent  "  well  of  him  that  cried." 1 

Yes,  God  the  Lord  was  with  him.     His  the  might 
That  braced  his  soul  and  nerved  his  arm  in  fight ; 
And  His  the  fountain  of  exhaustless  thought 
That  flow'd  from  Samson's  rugged  lips  untaught, 
When,  at  his  bidding,  with  obedient  feet, 
All  Israel  throng'd  around  his  judgment  seat. 

Then  all  men  call'd  us  blessed :  peace  again 
Shed  its  rich  plenty  over  hill  and  plain ; 
The  fields  were  white  with  flocks ;  and,  loved  of  God, 
Again  our  land  with  milk  and  honey  flow'd ; 
Age  in  his  presence  bow'd,  and  virgins  young 
With  tabrets  and  with  dance  his  triumphs  sung, 
And  parents  taught  their  infants'  lips  to  frame 
Their  first  fond  blessings  on  our  Samson's  name. 

1  "He  called  the  name  thereof  Enhakkore  ;  "  margin,  "the  well  of 
him  that  cried."  — Judg.  xv.  19. 


SAMSON.  81 

A  few  short  years  of  mirth  and  minstrelsy, 

And,  oh,  the  harrowing  change  to  mine  and  me ! 

Our  foes  again  victorious ;  and  our  child 

Begirt  by  hatred,  and  by  love  beguiled, 

Shorn  of  his  Godlike  strength,  bereaved  of  sight 

And  freedom,  in  the  dungeon's  loathsome  night, 

The  slave  of  slaves  who  mock'd  his  every  sigh, 

And  sported  with  his  only  prayer  —  to  die. 

Woe  for  his  mother,  woe !  the  tidings  crush'd 

Her  heart :  —  when  forth  companionless  he  rush'd 

Singly  a  thousand  warriors  to  assail, 

I  never  saw  her  glowing  cheek  turn  pale  ; 

But  when  she  heard  upon  that  awful  night, 

"  Thy  Samson  is  no  more  a  Nazarite," 

Long  while  she  sate  in  speechless  anguish  there, 

A  mute  and  marble  likeness  of  despair, 

Till  from  her  breaking  heart  these  words  found  way : 

"  My  God.  ..."  she  struggled,  but  she  could  not  pray  — 

"My  husband  "  —  and  she  shook  in  every  limb, 

"  He  hath  abandon'd  God,  and  God  abandon'd  him.,, 

But  why  retrace  the  story  of  his  fall,  — 
Alas,  too  well,  too  widely  known  by  all  ? 

4* 


82  SA3IS0N. 

Delilah's  arts ;  —  his  weakness  warn'd  in  vain, 
Thrice  warn'd,  thrice  yielding  to  the  slavish  chain 
Of  venal  Beauty's  lying  blandishment, 
And  still  entangled  when  the  snare  was  rent ;  — 
That  fatal  couch  ;  —  that  dark  perfidious  hour 
When  he  betray'd  his  citadel  of  power : 
The  quenching  of  those  eyes  in  endless  night 
No  foe  had  ever  dared  to  meet  in  fight ; 
The  fetters  forged  his  free-born  limbs  around ; 
The  fetid  prison  where  with  slaves  he  ground ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  shouts  of  high  acclaim 
Before  him  raised  to  Dagon's  cursed  name.  — 
Enough :  I  bless  the  Hand  that  smote  him  now, 
And  taught  him  though  with  bitter  tears  to  bow, 
Until  he  learnt  beneath  the  chastening  rod 
That  he  was  only  strong,  while  strong  in  God. 

Hark  !  there  are  sounds  of  revelry  and  mirth. 

There  is  a  feast  to  Dagon ;  and  the  earth 

Rings  with  the  shout  exultingly  again 

Of  that  far-echoing  sacrificial  strain : 

See,  Gaza's  eager  population  waits 

The  opening  of  those  massive  temple  gates. 


SAMSON.  83 

He  comes  !  he  comes  !  on  his  triumphal  car, 
Deck'd  with  the  gorgeous  pageantries  of  war, 
Is  rear'd  the  hideous  idol ;  one  and  all 
Before  their  god  in  low  prostration  fall. 
And  hark  again,  those  wild  and  dissonant  cries 
In  proud  defiance  swelling  to  the  skies  — 
"  Hail,  Dagon  !  thou  hast  fought  for  us  and  won ! 
Hail,  Dagon,  hail !     Where  lies  Manoah's  son  ? 
Where  is  the  God  of  Israel  ?  let  Him  now 
Avenge  His  cause  ;  and  be  our  champion  thou  ! " 
Again  the  gates  are  closed,  again  the  din 
Rings  through  the  joyous  city.     But  within 
Dispersed  through  courts  and  crowded  galleries, 
Whose  spacious  roof  receives  the  welcome  breeze, 
Behold,  the  choicest  of  Philistia's  peers, 
The  bloom  of  all  her  beauty :  echoing  cheers 
Peal  through  the  temple  of  the  idol  god, 
And  wine  and  jesting  fill  the  vast  abode, 
Till  in  their  impious  merriment  they  call 
For  Samson's  feats  to  crown  their  festival. 

Hark  yet  again,  one  universal  cry, 
A  ruin'd  nation's  groan  of  agony, 


84  SAMSON. 

With  wailing,  fills  the  vast  of  heaven :  —  again, 
The  dying  shrieks  of  thousands  from  that  fane : 
Again  —  and  Gaza  holds  her  fearful  breath,  — 
And  all  is  mute  as  sleep,  the  sleep  of  death. 

To  Zorah's  vale  full  soon  the  tidings  sped, 
Where  lone  I  watch'd  his  mother's  dying-bed ; 
For,  ever  since  he  fell  Delilah's  prey, 
She  like  a  flower  had  wither'd  day  by  day, 
Calm,  tearless,  uncomplaining,  yet  I  knew 
Her  broken  heart  had  found  no  healing  dew. 
But  when  her  ear  the  hurried  message  caught 
That  God  deliverance  by  his  death  had  wrought ; 
The  banquet,  and  the  shouts  that  rend  the  air, 
His  deeds  of  might,  his  last  victorious  prayer, 
The  pillars  grasp'd  and  shaken  to  and  fro, 
The  helples«  agonizing  cries  of  woe, 
Until  the  temple's  shatter'd  roof  and  dome 
Wrapt  him  and  all  in  one  terrific  tomb ;  — 
Then  first  a  smile  of  glory  on  her  cheek 
Spoke  of  such  bliss  as  language  could  not  speak : 
She  raised  her  overflowing  eyes  to  heaven, 
And  wept  for  joy,  "  My  Samson  is  forgiven." 


SAMSON.  85 

My  tale  is  told  —  too  soon  the  sepulchre 

That  closed  o'er  Samson  was  unseal'd  for  her ; 

And  I  was  left  my  nation's  peace  to  see  — 

Peace  which  my  child  had  won,  though  not  for  me : 

Farewell !  our  circle  gathers  in  the  sky, 

And  as  they  died  in  faith,  so  would  I  die. 

Bannhigham,  1850. 


NINEVEH. 

"  Opinionum  coramenta  dies  delet ;  naturae  judicia  confirmat." 

Cic.  de  Nat.  Deor, 

I. 

Woe  for  the  land  of  Asshur !  she  who  sate 

Queen  of  the  nations,  princess  of  the  peers ; 
How  sits  she  as  a  widow  desolate, 

In  bitterness  of  soul  and  silent  tears ! 

Great  Nineveh  is  fallen  !     Pale  with  fears 
She  sits  in  her  sepulchral  greatness,  hoary 

With  lapse  of  unknown  centuries  of  years ; 
And  strangers  roam  her  haunts  of  sometime  glory, 
Deciphering  with  pain  her  once  transparent  story. 


NINEVEH.  87 

II. 

Woe  for  the  land  of  Asshur !  she  who  nursed 

The  world's  forefathers  in  her  golden  plains, 
And  cradled  by  her  mighty  streams  the  first 

Primeval  race  of  heroes  !     What  remains 

Of  all  her  trophies  and  colossal  fanes  ? 
Stern,  shapeless  heaps  of  ruin,  mouldering  slow 

Beneath  the  fiery  sun  and  torrent  rains :  — 
Wild  heedless  hordes  about  her  come  and  go :  — 
An  unloved  spectacle  of  unlamented  woe. 


in. 

Woe  for  the  land  of  Asshur  !     Greece  hath  bow'd 
Her  head  beneath  the  chariot-wheels  of  Time ; 

But  sorrow,  like  a  distant  mountain-cloud, 
Hath  hung  its  lucid  veil  above  her  clime, 
And  only  made  her  virtues  more  sublime. 

All  centuries  have  wept  her  fall,  and  sung 

Her  greatness  and  her  grief  in  loftiest  rhyme  ; 

And,  lingering  still  her  haunted  fanes  among, 
Repictured,  from  her  age,  her  loveliness  when  young. 


88  NINEYEH. 

IV. 

Woe  for  the  land  of  Asshur  !     Salem  lies,  — 
Salem,  her  former  captive,  lies  in  gloom ; 

And  Zion,  twice  a  widow,  mourns  and  sighs, 
And  lingers,  spectre-like,  beside  the  tomb 
Of  her  first  bridal  blessedness  and  bloom. 

She  mourns,  but  mourns  in  hope ;  for  God  hath  spoken 
The  mystic  number  of  her  years  of  doom ; 

She  waits  the  beacon-light,  the  Gospel  token, 
When  stanch'd  shall  be  her  wounds,  and  all  her  chains  be 
broken. 

v. 

But  woe  for  thee,  0  Asshur !     Few  bemoan 

Thy  giant  desolations,  void  and  vast ; 
No  beauty  smiles  on  thy  sepulchral  stone. 

The  solitary  stranger  stands  aghast 

At  thee,  but  weeps  not ;  and  the  fitful  blast 
Sighs  in  thy  palaces.     Nor  canst  thou  borrow 

Far  hopes  to  cheer  the  present  and  the  past ; 
No  dawn  shall  glimmer  on  thy  night  of  sorrow, 
Its  silence  and  its  sadness  hath  no  bright  to-morrow. 


NINEVEH.  89 


VI. 


What  though  above  thy  solitudes  the  Spring 

Her  fairy  mantle  ever  throws  anew ; 
Though  smiles  the  early  Summer,  carpeting 

Thy  wastes  with  flowers  of  scarlet  and  of  blue, 

And  tangled  labyrinths  of  every  hue  ? 
To  one  who  knew  thee  in  thy  prime  it  seems 

A  sad  heart's  laughter,  to  itself  untrue ; 
A  captive's  reverie,  —  a  widow's  dreams,  — 
The  bubbles  breaking  fast  on  dark  and  troubled  streams. 


VII. 

Where  are  thy  frowning  towers  and  scornful  walls, 
And  spacious  parks,  by  hanging  gardens  spann'd  ? 

Where  are  thy  regal  palaces,  whose  halls 
Of  sculptured  alabaster  proudly  stand, 
The  envy  and  the  fame  of  every  land, 

Dyed  purple  and  vermilion ;  echoing 

With  bursts  of  song,  by  gales  of  fragrance  fann'd; 

Enrich'd  with  every  great  and  gorgeous  thing,  — 
Meet  dwelling-place  for  thee,  supreme  Assyrian  King  ?. 


90  NINEVEH. 

VIII. 

Where  is  thy  stern  array  of  warrior  sons, — 
The  peerless  maidens  of  Chaldea's  bloom,  — 

The  laughter  of  her  myriad  little  ones ;  — 

The  voice  of  merchandise,  —  the  mingled  hum 
Of  citizens,  and  pilgrims  who  have  come 

From  far  to  view  her  greatness  ;  —  the  low  sighs 
Of  love,  —  the  strains  of  music  never  dumb,  — 

The  banquetings  beneath  her  azure  skies, 
Or  long  luxurious  dance  of  torch-light  revelries  ? 


IX. 

Where  is  the  idol  faith  that  once  was  hers,  — 
The  victims  on  her  altars  wont  to  bleed  ? 

Her  temples,  throng'd  with  prostrate  worshippers, 
And  guarded  by  that  winged-lion  breed  — 
The  awful  symbols  of  a  perish'd  creed, 

Whose  forms  of  might  their  portals  still  defend ; 
Whose  wings  betoken  omnipresent  speed  ; 

And  brows  of  lofty  human  mould  portend 
The  knowledge  of  the  gods  and  wisdom  without  end  ? 


NINEVEH.  91 

X. 

Oh,  weep  for  Nineveh !  —  the  scorn  or  pity, 

From  age  to  age,  of  every  passer  by. 
"  Is  this,"  they  ask,1  "  the  glad,  rejoicing  city, 

Who  said,  — '  I  am,  and  none  beside  me  ? '     Why 

Doth  she  in  wreck  and  desolation  lie  ?  " 
Great  Nineveh  is  fallen !     Transitory 

As  slopes  a  meteor  through  the  midnight  sky;  — 
Who  shall  repaint  her  vani-liM  scenes  of  glory, 
Or  weave  her  shatter'd  woof  of  fragmentary  story  ? 

XT. 

Though  gorgeous  fictions  have  been  pass'd  along 

The  half-incredulous  ages  down  to  this,  — 
What  boots  it  to  relate,  in  idle  song, 

How  Ninus  and  divine  Semiramis  2 

First  founded  yonder  vast  metropolis  ; 
And  left  a  lineage  of  kings,  whose  names 

Stand  tomb-like  o'er  oblivion's  dark  abyss, 
Until,  to  hide  his  everlasting  shames, 
Sardanapalus  lit  his  country's  funeral  flames  ? 

1  "This  is  the  rejoicing  city  that  dwelt  carelessly,  that  said  in  her 
heart,  I  am,  and  there  is  none  beside  me :  how  is  she  become  a  desola- 
tion." —  Zeph.  ii.  15. 

2  See  Dictionary  of  Biography,  under  Ninus. 


92  NINEVEH. 


XII. 


Thus,  o'er  the  keen  blue  night  of  northern  climes 
A  rose-blush,  as  of  morning,  seems  to  glow ; 

With  waves  of  undulating  light  at  times, 
And  ruddy  jets  of  flame  that  come  and  go, 
And  fitful  meteors  flashing  to  and  fro,  — 

A  dome  of  living  splendors  ;  but  anon 

Gloom  settles  on  those  silent  wastes  of  snow ; 

The  colors  fade  like  dreams,  and  all  is  wan, 
Save  intermittent  starlight,  dimly  glimmering  on. 


XIII. 

Thus  rose  and  sank  those  myths  of  by-gone  ages : 
Swiftly  they  sank,  and  darkness  block'd  my  sight ; 

Till  suddenly,  from  Inspiration's  pages, 

There  flash'd  a  few  and  flickering  beams  of  light 
On  distant  fragments  of  Assyria's  night. 

So  have  I  wander'd  in  some  giant  cave, 
Whose  sides  of  rock  and  pendent  stalactite 

Caught  radiance  from  my  torch,  at  times,  and  gave 
A  momentary  brightness  to  some  gushing  wave. 


NINEVEH.  93 


XIV. 

And  first,  far  looming  in  the  mist  of  years, 

Stood  Nimrod,1  mighty  in  the  sight  of  God,  — 

Lord  of  the  chase ;  before  him  earth  appears 
Strewn  with  the  desolations  of  the  flood, 
But  limitless  and  lordless.     Forth  he  stood, 

First  King  of  men,  and,  ranging  in  the  free 
Far  forests  with  his  teeming  multitude, 

Where  Tigris  rolls  to  Persia's  emerald  sea, 
Builded,  for  his  great  name,  the  infant  Nineveh. 

xv. 

Thus  clothed  his  form  in  brightness,  and  then  fail'd 
The  beam  reflected  from  the  sacred  page ; 

And  close,  impenetrable  darkness  veil'd 
The  long  succeeding  ages.     Age  on  age, 
Basking  in  peace,  or  tost  with  warfare's  rage, 

They  pass'd  before  my  musing  sight  once  more ; 
Their  voices  did  my  lingering  ear  engage ; 

The  hum  of  teeming  myriads,  like  the  roar 
Of  mighty  waters  chafing  on  an  unseen  shore. 

1  Gen.  x.  8-11. 


94  NINEVEH. 

XVI. 

Long  while  I  mused  her  story,  how  she  grew 

Alone  in  greatness,  and  in  guilt  alone ; 
Until  they  left  the  God  their  fathers  knew, 

And  shadow'd  forth  the  unseen  Eternal  One 

In  idol  images  of  brass  and  stone ; 
(Fools  !  though  the  earth  too  mean  a  footstool  were, 

The  starry  heavens  for  Him  too  base  a  throne) 
Till  God,  at  length,  in  wrath  abandon'd  her, 
Of  her  own  lusts  to  be  the  slave  and  worshipper. 


XVII. 

In  greatness  and  in  wickedness  she  grew : 

Ambition's  lurid  and  deceptive  star 
To  distant  lands  her  conquering  armies  drew, 

And  filPd  her  streets  with  sights  and  sounds  of  war, 

The  chariot  and  the  glancing  scimitar : 
Debasing  lust  her  native  homes  defiled 

With  tears  of  hapless  virgins  brought  from  far: 
Her  heaps  of  gold  insatiate  avarice  piled ; 
And  Pleasure,  with  young  hopes,  her  votaries  beguiled. 


NINEVEH.  95 


XVIII. 


Thus  great  in  glory,  and  too  great  in  crime, 
The  upland  slope  of  fame  she  seem'd  to  tread ; 

And  on  from  height  to  giddy  height  did  climb, 
And  fix'd  her  dwelling  'mid  the  stars,  and  said, 
"  No  thunders  there  could  scathe  her  lofty  head." 

Was  there  no  voice  her  peril  to  proclaim, 

Ere  her  proud  sons  were  number'd  with  the  dead  ? 

Hark  !  as  I  ponder'd  o'er  her  shatter'd  fame, 
In  rugged  uncouth  verse,  the  mystic  answer  came. 


Calmly  glow'd  the  setting  sun 
Upon  the  dark  of  Lebanon ; 
TiJl,  ere  it  sank,  each  cedar  spire 
Was  clad  in  a  robe  of  golden  fire, 
And  a  smile  of  light  broke  gloriously 
On  the  sullen  waves  of  the  Western  sea. 
Far  off,  on  Camel's  rocky  fell, 
There  sate  the  seer  of  Israel ; 
He  watch'd  the  dying  gleams  of  day 
From  tide  and  turret  fade  away, 


9f>  NINEVEH. 

And  deeply  he  sigh'd  for  the  land  of  God, 

And  inly  murmur'd,  "  Ichabod." 

He  look'd  again,  a  flash  of  light 

On  the  far  horizon's  deepening  night ! 

Loath  to  quit  so  fair  a  clime, 

Hath  the  sun  reversed  the  march  of  time  ? 

Or  is  it  the  reflex  glory  cast 

From  mighty  meteors  streaming  past  ? 

His  prophetic  eye  divine 

More  truly  read  that  sacred  sign : 
He  felt  that  a  message  from  God  was  near, 
And  he  bow'd  his  head  in  silent  prayer. 
"  Go  forth,  go  forth,  thou  prophet  of  the  Lord 
(Thus  thrill'd  his  soul  the  penetrating  word)  : 
Against  that  great  and  guilty  city  cry, 
Whose  wickedness  hath  reach'd  to  heaven ;  for  I, 
The  Lord  Jehovah,  have  commission'd  thee 
A  herald  of  my  wrath  to  Nineveh." 


A  tempest  shook  the  prophet's  soul, 
And  trembling  seized  him  past  control. 
Not  the  march  through  far-off  lands, 
Not  the  blasts  of  desert  sands, 


NINEVEH.  97 

Not  the  taunts  and  proud  despite 

Of  the  godless  Ninevite, 

Not  the  wrathful  threatenings 

Of  the  Assyrian  king  of  kings, 

Not  the  leagued  hosts  of  hell, 

Moved  the  seer  of  Israel. 
Yet  shook  he  like  a  wind-tost  oak  to  go 

Proclaiming  wrath  and  woe ; 
For  well  he  knew  how  mercy  dwelt  above, 
And  deeply  had  experienced  "  God  is  love."  1 

Dark  tempest  on  the  waters :  see,  they  rise 

Faster  and  fiercer  round  that  little  bark  ! 

Her  mariners  with  agonizing  cries 

Betake  them  to  their  gods  for  aid,  but  dark 

Still  lay  the  tempest  on  the  waters :  dark 

Grew  every  face,  and  darker  grew  the  skies : 

They  strew'd  the  billows  with  their  Tyrian  wares, 

Redoubling  their  wild  prayers. 
Till  lo,  quoth  one,  "  Yon  strange  and  fearful  man 
Calmly  hath  slumber'd  since  the  storm  began.  — 
What  meanest  thou,  O  sleeper !  rise  and  call 
1  Jonah  iv.  2. 
5 


98  NINEVEH. 

Upon  thy  God  to  bend  His  gracious  ear, 
And  think  on  us  in  pity,  ere  we  all 
Together  perish  here." 

Then  rose  the  prophet  Jonah  —  calm  his  mien, 

In  its  stern  sadness  awfully  serene  — 

One  glance  he  took  upon  the  raging  main, 

Then  slowly  scann'd  that  trembling  crew  again. 

His  steady  eye  disturb'd  them ;  for  the  change 

Wrought  in  his  slumber  seem'd  unearthly  strange. 

Surely  in  that  profound  mysterious  dream 

The  Lord  his  God  hath  spoken  unto  him, 

Who  hitherto  had  ever  seem'd  to  live 

In  terror,  like  a  guilty  fugitive, 

But  now,  amid  the  storm,  stood  forth  alone, 

The  only  fearless  one. 
"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  tremblingly  they  ask'd,  "  and  what 
Thy  country  and  thy  race  ?  "  —  He  trembled  not, 

But  prophet-like  replied : 
"  I  am  a  Hebrew,  and  I  bow  the  knee 
To  Him  who  made  the  heaven  and  earth  and  sea : 
Fear  not,  but  cast  me  in  the  raging  tide, 
Because  for  me  yon  raging  billows  roar,  — 
And  peace  shall  tend  you  to  your  distant  shore." 


NINEVEH.  99 

Oh,  unexampled  faith,  unequall'd  trust 
Placed  in  his  God  by  a  frail  child  of  dust ! 
Hosanna  !  from  the  caverns  of  the  grave, 

Beneath  the  ocean  wave, 
Climbs  to  the  throne  of  God  through  sea  and  air, 
The  voice  of  confidence  and  praise  and  prayer.1 
Hell,  who  had  gloried  in  the  prophet's  fall, 
And  gloated  o'er  her  coming  carnival, 
Heard  it  and  trembled  —  dark,  mysterious  sign  2 
Of  that  predicted  Conqueror  Divine, 
Whose  advent  was  the  token 
Of  chains  and  fetters  broken, 
Who,  buried  like  that  seer  beneath  the  earth, 
Should  mar  the  triumph  of  her  fiendish  mirth, 
And  wrest  the  ponderous  keys  of  death  away, 
And  lead  captivity  his  captive  prey. 

It  was  the  glow  of  eventide  —  behold 

Upon  his  throne  of  ivory  and  gold, 

Assyria's  monarch  proudly  gazed  around, 

While  prostrate  kings  before  him  kiss'd  the  ground. 

1  Jonah's  prayer,  rising  at  its  close  to  a  song  of  praise,  was  uttered 
before  his  deliverance.  —  Jonah  ii.  1-9. 

2  Matt  xii.  39-41. 


100  NINEVEH. 

When  lo  !  a  messenger  in  haste  is  brought, 
His  blanch'd  cheeks  with  a  tale  of  danger  fraught 
"  This  livelong  day,"  he  falter 'd,  "  there  hath  been 
A  prophet  such  as  earth  hath  never  seen, 
From  street  to  street  who  wanders  sad  and  slow, 
With  one  stern  message  of  impending  woe  — 
'  Ere  forty  suns  have  risen  on  Nineveh, 
'  Her  guilt  and  glory  shall  have  ceased  to  be/  " 

Straightway  a  smile  of  proud  derision  curl'd 
The  lip  of  that  proud  monarch  of  the  world ; 
But,  ere  he  spake,  his  courtiers  crowded  near, 

And  pour'd  into  his  ear, 
What  busy  fame  had  spread  from  lip  to  lip,  — 
The  story  of  that  tempest-shatter'd  ship, 
And  that  unheard-of  miracle,  that  bore 
The  Prophet  Jonah  to  his  destined  shore. 
Long  while  he  grappled  with  his  fears,  and  then 
Look'd  round  his  court  in  marvel ;  and  again 
He  gazed  upon  those  floods  of  radiance  bright 
Which  bathed  his  palace  in  their  golden  light, 
And  shed  fresh  lustre  on  the  vivid  story, 
Which  glow'd  in  sculpture,  of  his  deeds  of  glory. 


NINEVEH.  101 

What  storms  could  gather  in  these  cloudless  skies  ? 
Who  dared  to  call  themselves  his  enemies  ? 
He  would  have  spoken  ;  but  again  lie  hears 
That  death-knell  in  his  ears  — 
"  Ere  forty  suns  have  risen  on  Nineveh, 
Her  guilt  and  glory  shall  have  ceased  to  be !  " 
And  Conscience  whisper'd,  Tis  Jehovah  saith, 
Till  dread  conviction  ripenVl  into  faith. 
He  rose  from  off  his  kingly  throne  of  state ; 
He  laid  aside  his  purple  robe ;  he  sate 
In  sackcloth  and  in  ashes :  his  decree 
Sped  with  wild  speed  through  guilty  Nineveh : 
And  all  men  trembled,  and  obey'd  the  word  — 
"  Let  neither  man,  nor  cattle,  flock,  nor  herd, 
Or  food  or  water  taste  by  night  or  day ; 
But  turn  ye  from  the  evil  of  your  way, 
And  mightily  implore  the  God  of  heaven, 
If  it  may  be  our  crimes  can  be  forgiven." 
•         ••«••••• 
Though  the  stern  struggle  of  his  mission  o'er, 
The  fainting  prophet  is  himself  no  more ; 
Though  seeing  Nineveh  is  spared,  he  prays 
To  finish  here  his  days  : 


102  NINEVEH. 

Scorn  not  the  weakness  of  his  faithless  fear, 
But  bend  with  him  a  reverential  ear, 
And  catch  those  gracious  accents  from  above, 
Which  filFd  his  soul  with  tenderness  and  love  :  — 
"  Thou  hast  had  pity  on  thy  gourd's  delight, 
Which  came,  and  grew,  and  wither'd  in  a  night ; 
Shall  I  not  pity  Nineveh,  wherein 

Are  numberless  and  guiltless  herds  and  sheep, 
And  infants  weeping  while  their  mothers  weep, 
But  knowing  nothing  of  their  mothers'  sin  ?  " 

Ah,  silence  here  is  eloquent  —  he  heard  — 

His  heart  was  touch'd  —  he  answer'd  not  a  word. 

XIX. 

Thus  lower'd  the  storm  of  vengeance,  drear  and  dark : 
Its  folds  of  ruin  wrapp'd  the  noon-day  sky : 

Heaven's  thunders  murmur'd  coming  wrath.     But  hark ! 
From  that  great  city  one  repentant  cry 
Rose  like  a  fragrant  incense-cloud  on  high. 

And  mercy  pleaded  and  prevail'd :  it  pass'd, 
And  left  her  in  her  scatheless  majesty : 

The  blue  heavens  smiled,  so  lately  overcast, 
Of  her  unclouded  skies  the  loveliest  and  the  last 


NINEVEH.  103 


XX. 


Woe  to  the  land  of  Asshur !  —  after-years 

Too  soon  format  the  warning  voice  of  Heaven : 
And  mock'd  derisively  their  fathers*  fears, 

And  proudly  strove  with  God  as  they  had  striven, 

Unheeding,  unrepentant,  unforgiven. 
Ah,  woe  for  Nineveh  —  the  tempest  lay 

From  off  the  skirts  of  her  horizon  driven, 
But  ready  to  descend  with  baleful  sway 
The  moment  God  announced  her  fatal  judgment-day. 


XXI. 

Have  ye  exhausted  all  the  mines  of  Ind  ? 

Have  Egypt's  dark-brow'd  captives  all  been  sold  ? 
Or  doth  the  idle  unproductive  wind 

No  more  from  Tarshish  waft  her  stores  untold 

Of  spices  and  of  purple  and  of  gold  ? 
Why  grasp  ye  at  the  solitary  gem, 

Which,  from  all  jewels  of  the  earth,  of  old 
The  Lord  hath  chosen  for  his  diadem  — 
The  favorite  land  of  heaven  —  beloved  Jerusalem  ? 


104  NINEVEH. 


XXII. 


Oh  weep  wifeh  weeping  Israel !     Broken-hearted, 

Far  off  she  mourns,  the  Gentile's  prisoner  : 
Her  beauty  and  her  bloom  hath  all  departed, 

For  her  transgressions  great  and  grievous  were ; 

And  therefore  hath  the  Lord  afflicted  her.1 
Like  some  wild  vision  of  the  night  it  seems  — 

Her  old  men  crave  a  speedy  sepulchre ; 
Her  sons  in  fetters  foster  hopeless  dreams ; 
Her  daughters  hang  their  harps  by  far  ungenial  streams. 


XXIII. 

Yet  half  the  tempest  fell  not :  Jordan  still 
Fenced  Carcnel's  forest  and  Siloah's  spring. 

But  lo,  a  darker  tempest-cloud  of  ill ! 
Innumerable  hosts  were  marshalling 
Beneath  the  banners  of  Assyria's  king  — 

Wilt  thou  not  manifest  thy  glory  there  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  spread,  O  Lord,  thy  guardian  wing  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  listen  to  that  piercing  prayer  ? 
u  Spare  us,  O  Lord  our  God  —  spare  us,  Jehovah,  spare." 
1  Lamentations  i.  5. 


NINEVEH.  105 

XXIV. 

On  like  a  vulture  to  the  field  of  doom 

Sennacherib  came  hasting  through  the  land ; 

He  march'd  in  vengeance,  like  the  fierce  Simoom 
With  clouds  and  pillars  of  hot  burning  sand, 
That  sweeps  o'er  Afric's  desolated  strand. 

Proudly  he  taunted  Heaven,  and  ask'd  in  wrath, 
What  God  or  man  his  armies  could  withstand  ? 

Fool,  fool,  who  never  in  his  blood-stain'd  path 
Had  wrestled  with  the  calm  omnipotence  of  faith. 

XXV. 

'Twas  midnight,  when  the  angel  of  the  Lord 

Went  forth  and  look'd  upon  that  teeming  glen, 
And  waved  above  that  host  his  silent  sword ; 
Nor  sheathed  the  fearful  blade  of  death  again 
Till  more  than  eighteen  myriads  of  men 
Slept  their  last  slumber  on  the  blasted  heath. 
In  fear  the  scanty  remnant  fled,  and  when 
The  morning  rose,  no  living  man  drew  breath 
In  that  vast  host  of  slain  —  that  silent  camp  of  death.1 

1  Isa.  xxxviii. 
6* 


106  NINEVEH. 


XXVI. 


But  woe  to  thee,  Assyria,  who  hast  striven 
To  mock  Jehovah  with  thine  impious  tongue ; 

Guard  thine  own  city  from  the  bolts  of  heaven ! 
Thy  hour  is  coming.     Zion's  virgin  young 
Already  hath  thy  funeral  dirges  sung : 

Already  Israel's  bard  has  seized  the  lyre,1 
The  awful  lyre  of  prophecy,  and  flung 

These  scathing  words  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire, 
To  brand  thy  withering  pride  with  everlasting  fire. 


'Tis  the  Lord  —  'tis  the  Lord  —  'tis  the  glorious  God, 
He  hath  smitten  the  earth  with  the  curse  of  His  rod, 

And  the  nations  stand  at  His  judgment-seat : 
The  lightnings  and  thunders  His  mission  perform, 
The  Lord  hath  His  way  in  the  whirlwind  and  storm, 

And  the  clouds  are  the  dust  of  His  feet. 
He  rebuketh  the  sea,  and  a  desert  is  made, 

And  the  rivers  are  dust  at  His  word, 

l  Nahum ;  he  appears  to  have  uttered  his  burden  of  Nineveh,  which 
the  writer  has  attempted  to  paraphrase  in  the  following  lines,  the  very- 
year,  B.C.  713,  in  which  Sennacherib  invaded  Judaea. 


NINEVEH.  107 

And  Bashan,  and  Carmel,  and  Lebanon  fade, 

And  the  earth  is  consumed,  and  the  hills  are  dismay'd, 

The  depths  of  the  mountains  are  stirr'd. 
Say,  who  can  stand  in  His  anger's  path 

When  his  fury  descends  like  fire? 
Say,  who  can  abide  the  heat  of  His  wrath, 

For  the  rocks  are  rent  by  His  ire  ? 

The  Lord  is  good,  and  a  hiding-place 
For  those  who  in  trouble  seek  His  face; 
Behold,  on  the  mountains  are  those  who  tell 
Of  peace  and  salvation  to  Israel. 

Proud  Nineveh !  are  thy  watchers  dumb  ? 

The  hosts  that  shall  dash  thee  in  pieces  are  come. 

Ho !  man  the  ramparts,  watch  the  way, 

And  set  thy  battle's  fierce  array : 

The  shields  of  thy  mighty  men  are  red, 

And  thy  valiant  men  are  in  scarlet  clad ; 

Like  flaming  torches  thy  chariots  seem, 

And  run  like  the  lightning's  vivid  gleam, 

And  the  cry  resounds  through  those  dense  alarms, 

Stand,  Asshur,  stand  —  To  arms  !     To  arms ! 


108  NINEVEH. 

Huzzab  is  fallen :  void  and  vast, 

All  at  her  death-pangs  stand  aghast ; 

And  the  loins  are  loosed  with  pain  at  her  doom, 

And  the  faces  of  all  men  gather  gloom. 

Where  is  the  lions'  rifled  lair  ? 

The  dens  of  prey  and  of  ravine,  where  ? 

Woe  to  the  bloody  city,  woe ! 

The  Lord  hath  smitten  her,  and  lo ! 

Drunken  she  staggers  to  and  fro. 

Who  lately  sate  a  princess  seeming, 

With  witcheries  and  whoredoms  teeming ; 

And  far  her  proud  defiance  hurl'd, 

The  harlot  empress  of  the  world ;  — 

How  is  she  dragg'd  in  chains  along ! 

Why  beats  she  her  breast  at  the  victor's  song  ? 

How  lies  she  friendless,  shelterless, 

In  guilt,  and  shame,  and  nakedness ! 

The  gazing-stock  of  those  who  were 

Once  slaves  and  sycophants  of  her ! 

The  sharp  fire  burns  like  the  cankerworm, 

And  the  sword  has  defiled  thy  alluring  form; 

But  never  hath  a  balm  been  found 

To  heal  thy  everlasting  wound. 


NINEVEH.  109 

Earth  waves  exultingly  its  hand 
O'er  thee,  the  scourge  of  every  land. 

XXVII. 

These  harpings  ceased,  and  when  I  look'd  again, 
Fire,  sword,  and  famine  their  fell  work  had  done. 

The  city  lay  in  ruin  on  the  plain : 

Her  shrines,  her  palaces,  her  monarch's  throne, 
One  mingled  mass  of  crumbling  earth  and  stone. 

Time  digg'd  thy  grave,  and  heap'd  the  dust  on  thee ; 
Soon  died  the  echo  of  thy  dying  groan  ; 

And  travellers,  who  came  thy  wreck  to  see, 
Ask'd,  and  received  no  answer  —  Where  is  Nineveh  ? 

XXVIII. 

...  It  is  the  evening  of  the  world.     The  sun 
Casts  level  shadows  o'er  its  restless  tide ; 
And  though  dense  clouds,  before  his  race  be  run, 
Betoken  coming  tempest,  in  their  pride 
The  nations  still  all  signs  of  night  deride, 
And  to  and  fro  are  hurrying  through  the  earth 

By  ancient  tracks  or  pathways  yet  untried 
To  satisfy  their  souls'  insatiate  dearth 
With  riches  or  with  fame,  or  pleasure's  idiot-mirth. 


110  NINEVEH. 


XXIX. 


Men  throng  all  paths  of  knowledge,  urging  still 
Into  the  vast  unknown  their  perilous  way ; 

Wielding  all  powers  of  nature  to  their  will, 
To-day  they  spurn  the  speed  of  yesterday, 
And  travel  with  the  storms,  nor  brook  delay. 

And  swifter  than  the  eagle's  swiftest  wing 

They  bind  their  words  upon  the  lightning's  ray, 

And  from  the  elements  new  virtues  wring, 
To  sound  the  lowest  depths  of  truth's  exhaustless  spring. 


XXX. 

Men  throng  all  paths  of  knowledge.     Science  dives 
Below  the  ocean's  bed,  the  mountain's  base, 

And  from  the  bowels  of  creation  rives 

Those  monumental  stones  which  dimly  trace 
Earth's  primal  story :  then  she  soars  apace 

Above  our  little  orb,  and  speeds  afar 

'Mid  distant  planets  her  unwearied  chase, 

Skirting  their  track  as  in  a  seraph's  car 
From  luminous  world  to  world,  from  gorgeous  star  to  star. 


NINEVEH.  Ill 


XXXI. 


Men  throng  all  paths  of  knowledge.     It  might  seem 
Earth  was  now  launch'd  upon  the  early  source 

Of  time's  inimitably -flowing  stream  ; 

But  trace  the  windings  of  her  backward  course, 
Her  centuries  of  crime  and  dark  remorse, 

And  learn  these  struggles  ne'er  can  be  renew'd ;  — 
The  feverish  efforts  of  exhausted  force,  — 

The  latest  ebb  of  strength  almost  subdued,  — 
The  sure  and  fearful  signs  of  near  decrepitude. 


XXXII. 


See  how  upon  those  ancient  haunts  she  dwells, 
Where  first  her  prowess  and  her  power  began ; 

And  lingers  there  instinctively,  and  tells 
Her  antique  story  like  an  aged  man, 
Telling  what  races  in  his  youth  he  ran, 

And  all  the  trophies  of  his  early  prime ; 

Too  conscious  that  his  brief  remaining  span 

Waits  only  for  the  solemn  passing  chime, 
To  warn  us  he  hath  done  with  all  the  things  of  time. 


112  NINEVEH. 


XXXIII. 


She  treads  again  the  wastes  of  Babylon, 
And  roams  amid  Etrurian  tombs  once  more, 

And  fondly  lingers  where  the  setting  sun 
Gilds  ancient  Carthage,  or  the  fabled  shore, 
Where  Greece  and  Troy  were  lock'd  in  fight  of  yore, 

And  listens  to  their  story  as  the  last 
Faint  halo  of  a  day  too  quickly  o'er ; 

For  soon  her  bright  futurity  shall  cast 
Into  deep  twilight  shade  the  glory  of  the  past. 


XXXIV. 

And  what  although  this  latest  age  hath  riven 
The  veil  which  hides  thy  shames,  O  Nineveh, 

From  all  the  taunts  of  earth  and  frowns  of  heaven ; 
Though  distant  nations  crave  admiringly 
Some  relic  or  some  monument  of  thee ; 

Though  from  far  lands  the  lonely  traveller 
Wanders  thy  ruin  and  thy  wreck  to  see ;  — 

Who  shall  recall  to  life  the  things  that  were? 
Or  wake  the  spectral  forms  of  thy  vast  sepulchre  ? 


NINEVEH.  113 


XXXV. 


No,  while  the  ages  of  this  shatter'd  world 
Roll  slowly  to  the  final  term  of  time, 

There  shalt  thou  lie  in  desolation,  hurl'd 
By  vengeance  from  that  pinnacle  sublime 
Whereon  thou  satest  in  thy  glory's  prime  — •- 

By  travellers  of  every  nation  trod, 
Jehovah's  warning  unto  every  clime, 

Scathed  with  His  anger,  smitten  with  His  rod, 
And  witnessing  to  man  the  eternal  truth  of  God. 

Banningham,  1851. 


EZEKIEL. 

A    SEATONIAN   PRIZE    POEM. 

"0  navis,  referent  in  mare  te  novi 
Fluctus  ?     0  quid  agis  ?  fortiter  occupa 
Portum." 

A  day  of  many  clouds,  and  sudden  showers, 
And  breaks  of  golden  sunshine !  —  calmly  now 
On  yonder  cottage  of  the  valley,  lying 
Embosom'd  in  the  guardian  hills  and  woods, 
Rests,  like  a  father's  smile,  the  parting  flush 
Of  evening :  and  of  all  the  frequent  storms 
But  few  have  broken  on  the  peasant's  roof 
In  that  sequester'd  glen ;  and,  having  shed 
Their  quick  tears  almost  ere  they  woke  alarm, 
Pass'd  as  a  dream  in  lucid  light  away. 
But  he  whose  watch  is  builded  on  the  ridge 
Of  the  snow-crested  Apennines,  awe-struck 
Has  mark'd  the  rising  storm-clouds  one  by  one, 


EZEKIEL.  115 

The  which  have  cast  their  shadow  on  his  soul, 
Though  most  have  parted  to  the  right  or  left, 
And  fall'n  on  other  lands.     Such  was  thy  life, 
Ezekiel,  prophet  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
And  sentinel  of  Israel's  destinies. 
Let  others  nestling  in  secluded  homes, 
The  narrow  circle  of  themselves  and  theirs, 
Ask  of  the  present  hour  its  joy  or  grief:  — 
Thy  eagle  soul  was  nursed  and  nerved  to  climb 
Through  winds  and  tempests  sun-ward,  or  to  stand 
Alone  upon  the  everlasting  hills, 
And  with  a  patriot's  and  a  prophet's  eye 
Read  the  vex'd  future,  and  the  calm  beyond. 

Dark  are  the  landscapes  of  a  fallen  world, 
And  dark  must  be  the  thunder-clouds  that  roll 
Above  them ;  aid  no  eye  but  His  who  dwells 
Pavilion'd  in  eternity,  and  sees 
The  everlasting  Sabbath  imaged  there, 
Might  dare  to  scan  in  comprehensive  view 
The  desolations  of  six  thousand  years.1 

1  "No  eye  but  His  might  ever  bear 

To  gaze  all  down  that  drear  abyss, 
Because  none  ever  saw  so  clear 

The  shore  bevond  of  endless  bliss."  —  The  Christian  Year. 


116  EZEKIEL. 

His  hand  was  on  thee,  holy  seer :  *  His  voice 

Commission'd  thee  as  His  ambassador 

To  Israel  and  the  nations :  but  or  ever 

He  bared  the  secrets  of  futurity, 

In  mystic  vision  He  unveil'd  Himself, 

The  brightness  of  His  glory,  the  express 

Image  of  His  eternal  Godhead.2     Else, 

Ezekiel,  had  thy  soul  unequal  proved 

To  grasp  the  awful  counsels  of  His  will, 

Or  haply  had  been  lifted  up,  like  his 

Who,  first  and  noblest  of  created  beings, 

Son  of  the  morning,  peerless  Lucifer, 

Fell  ruinous  from  heaven,  and  with  him  dragg'd 

Bright  myriads  into  outer  darkness  down. 

But  never  minstrel  uninspired  may  catch 

The  stern  unearthly  music  of  thy  harp 

Prophetic,  nor  with  imitative  notes 

Tell  what  thou  saw'st,  where  Chebar's  crystal  waves 

Refresh'd  thy  solitary  exile  :  when 

There  came  dense  cloud  and  whirlwind  from  the  north, 

And  fiery  wreaths  of  flame,  fold  within  fold, 

1  Ezek.  i.  3.  2  Heb.  i.  3. 


EZEKIEL.  117 

And  brightness  as  of  glowing  amber,  round 

Those  living  creatures  inexpressible.1 

Of  human  likeness  seem'd  they,  clad  with  wings 

Of  Cherubim,  like  burning  coals  of  fire 

Or  lamps  that  flash'd  as  lightnings  to  and  fro ; 

Straight  moving,  where  the  Spirit  will'd.     Beneath 

Wheels  rush'd,  set  with  innumerable  eyes, 

Wheel  within  Wheel  of  beryl,  and  instinct 

With  one  pervading  Spirit :  over-head 

The  firmament  of  crystal,  terrible 

In  its  transparent  brightness  stretch'd.     They  rose, 

And  lo,  the  rushing  of  their  wings  appear'd 

The  roll  of  mighty  waters,  or  the  shout 

Of  countless  multitudes :  until,  the  voice 

Of  God  above  them  sounding  eminent, 

Straightway  they  stood  and  droop'd  their  awful  wings. 

And  far  above  the  firmament  behold 

The  likeness  of  a  sapphire  throne :  and  there, 

Mysterious  presage  of  the  Incarnate,  shone 

The  likeness  of  a  man ;  human  He  was 

In  every  lineament,  yet  likest  God, 

Clad  with  the  glory  of  amber  and  of  fire: 

*  See  Ezek.  i.  and  x- 


118  EZEKIEL. 

Pure  light  amid  the  impenetrable  dark, 
Insufferably  radiant,  till  it  wrote 
The  arch  of  mercy  on  the  clouds  of  wrath, 
And  with  its  zone  of  soften'd  rainbow  hues, 
Gold,  emerald,1  and  vermilion,  spann'd  the  throne. 

His  hand  was  on  thee,  prophet,  in  that  hour : 
Prostrate  in  adoration  at  His  feet 
His  voice  revived  thee,  or  thy  soul  had  sunk 
Unstrengthen'd  to  endure  such  massive  weight 
Of  glory.     But  enough  —  thine  eyes  have  seen 
The  King,  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  Emmanuel ; 
And  henceforth  in  the  panoply  of  God 
Arm'd,  thou  canst  front  the  lowering  looks  of  man, 
The  powers  of  hell  discomfit,  and  athwart 
The  troublous  ocean-floods  of  time  look  forth 
Firm  as  the  rooted  rocks.     Such  hidden  springs 
Of  strength  the  vision  of  the  Almighty  gives. 
So  he  who  bow'd  before  the  burning  bush 
Quail'd  not  in  Pharaoh's  presence.     He  who  led 
The  hosts  of  Israel  forth  victoriously, 
First  stood  before  their  Captain  and  his  own 

1  "In  sight  like  unto  an  emerald."  — Rev  iv.  3. 


EZEKIEL.  119 

And  worshipp'd.1     But  the  time  would  fail  to  tell 

Of  Mamre's  plain,  and  Peniel's  midnight  hour, 

Of  warriors,  and  the  goodly  fellowship 

Of  prophets,  and  apostles,  who  beheld 

In  vision  or  in  blest  society 

Jehovah's  glory,  ere  they  turn'd  to  flight 

The  armies  of  the  aliens,  or  proclaim'd 

His  adv£nt,  or  in  faith  impregnable 

Storm'd  the  proud  ramparts  of  a  rebel  world, 

And  on  the  crumbling  citadel  of  Rome 

Raised  gloriously  the  standard  of  the  Cross. 

Nor  needless  was  the  strength  of  heaven :  for  bleak 

And  bitter  were  the  wintry  storms  that  swept 

Thy  destined  path,  Ezekiel :  unto  grief 

No  stranger  thou.     Softly  thy  childhood  smiled 

Around  thee  in  thy  far-off  fatherland : 

A  mother's  tears  of  joy  upon  thy  cheeks 

Had  fallen,  brief  as  dewdrops,  which  the  Spring 

Sips  from  the  waking  flowers ;  and  through  thy  soul 

A  father's  benediction  had  diffused 

Its  life-long  balm  :  and  soon  the  priesthood  claim'd 

1  "  As  Captain  of  the  host  of  the  Lord  am  I  now  come."  — Josh.  v.  14. 


120  EZEKIEL. 

In  Salem's  courts  thy  white-robed  ministries. 

How  dear  the  memories  of  that  holy  shrine 

Amid  unrest  and  exile  !     Israel's  sins 

Had  drain'd  the  last  of  heaven's  long  suffering, 

And  vengeance  might  not  slumber  more.     The  storm, 

Whose  skirts  enfolded  Palestina,  fell 

Upon  thy  guilty  walls,  Jerusalem, 

With  fiercest  bolts  of  ruin  and  of  wreck.1 

Before  its  path  the  land  of  Eden  bloom'd, 

Behind  there  lay  one  desolate  wilderness. 

Nor  now  avails  it  from  a  thousand  homes 

Blacken'd  with  blood  and  flames,  to  single  thine  : 

One  of  the  darkest  pictures  which  the  Past 

Hides  trembling.     Fatherless  and  motherless, 

Reft  of  thy  brethren,  home,  and  native  land, 

Torn  from  the  bleeding  altars  of  thy  God, 

They  spared  thee  to  adorn  the  purple  pride 

Of  Asshur's  triumph,  and  then  cast  thee  forth 

To  hang  thy  exiled  harp  by  Chebar's  streams. 

Little  they  dream'd  in  their  delirious  mirth 

The  might  that  slumber'd  in  those  shatter'd  chords. 

1  Ezekiel  apparently  began  his  prophecy  about  five  years  after  the 
second  captivity. 


EZEKIEL.  121 

Thy  spirit  was  bruised,  not  broken :  time  has  lost 

Its  spell  —  eternity  has  fill'd  thy  heart : 

Thy  early  home  is  drench'd  with  tears  and  blood, 

And,  lo,  before  thee  rises  dimly  grand 

Thy  mansion  in  the  heavens.     What  if  the  dews 

And  summer  rivulets  of  life,  its  fresh 

And  first  affections,  have  been  wither'd  up 

Untimely,  in  thy  spirit's  inmost  depths 

Unseen  the  springs  of  heavenly  love  gush  forth, 

And  make  low  music  in  the  ear  of  God. 

His  hand  was  on  thee,  and  His  Spirit  breathed 
In  thy  stern  oracles,  what  time  alone 
Thou  wentest  forth  in  bitterness  of  soul, 
Unbending,  unattracted,  undismay'd, 
With  adamantine  forehead  to  confront 
Faces  of  adamant  and  hearts  of  stone : 1 
Seven  days  a  voiceless  witness,  communing 
With  God  in  silence.     But  the  Sabbath  came,2 

1  Ezek.  iii.  8,  9. 

2  "I .  .  .  remained  there  astonished  seven  days  .  .  .  and  it  came  to 
pass  at  the  end  of  seven  days  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  came  to  me."  — 
Ch.  iii.  15,  16.     This  has  been  thought  to  allude  to  the  Sabbath. 

6 


122  EZEKIEL. 

And  with  it  all  its  holy  memories, 

And  thoughts  of  Zion  and  Jerusalem ; 

And,  breeze-like  from  the  hills  of  heaven,  again 

The  echo  of  angelic  harmonies, 

And  rushing  of  the  wings  of  cherubim 

Swept  o'er  thy  spirit.     Then  thy  tongue  was  loosed ; 

Nor  longer  mute,  the  harp  of  prophecy 

Woke  to  thy  raptured  touch  its  strains  of  fire. 

"  "Woe  to  the  wicked !  he  shall  surely  die ; 

Woe  to  the  iron  heart,  and  right  hand  clench'd 

Against  the  widow  and  the  fatherless ! 

Woe  to  the  murderer,  the  rebellious  son, 

The  daughter  revelling  in  harlotry, 

The  faithless  wife,  the  dark  adulterer, 

The  sin-polluted  homes  of  Israel ! 

Woe  unto  him  who  leaves  the  living  God, 

Insensate,  to  adore  upon  the  hills 

His  idol  deities  of  lust  and  blood ! " 

Woe  to  the  land  that  hath  abandon'd  God; 

God  hath  abandon'd  her :  His  glittering  sword 

Is  whetted,  and  His  winged  arrow  lies 

Upon  the  string.     The  sentence  is  gone  forth. 


EZEK1EL.  123 

The  messengers  of  death  are  on  their  way, 
The  sword  of  noon,  the  pestilence  that  walks 
In  darkness,  and  the  ravening  beasts  of  prey. 
Behold  the  fury  of  Omnipotence, 
The  wrath  of  the  Eternal !  who  shall  stand 
His  vengeance  ?  for  the  roll  of  fate  is  fill'd 
With  mourning  and  lament  and  wrath  and  woe. 

It  ceased  awhile,  that  wail  of  prophecy ; 

But  fraught  with  darker  mysteries  ere  long 

Swell'd,  like  the  moanings  of  the  wintry  wind 

Again  and  yet  again  around  the  stones 

Of  crumbling  sepulchres.     Thine  eyes  have  seen, 

O  Lord,  the  chambers  of  dark  imagery, 

The  women  weeping  at  the  idol  shrine 

Of  Tammuz,  and  those  worshippers  who  kneel 

In  vile  prostration  to  the  rising  sun.1 

Woe  for  the  bloody  city  !  seeing  not 

Those  awful  watchers  standing  at  her  gates 

White-robed,  and  girt  with  weapons  keen  as  death :  2 

Nor  hearing  in  her  giddy  mirth  the  words 

That  fell,  Ezekiel,  on  thy  anguish'd  soul  — 

i  Ezek.  viii.  5-18.  2  Ezek.  ix.  1-7. 


124  EZEKIEL. 

"  Go  through  the  gates,  go  through  the  streets,  and 

slay  — 
Slay  old  and  young,  virgin  and  suckling  child, 
Spare  not,  but  slay  ye  every  thing  that  breathes ; 
Save  those  few  sealed  ones  who  sigh  and  cry 
In  secret  bitterly  before  their  God." 

Woe  for  apostate  Salem !  she  forsakes 

Her  glory,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord 

Forsakes  His  temple.     Lingering  and  slow * 

As  loath  to  leave  His  chosen  heritage, 

From  court  to  court  the  cloud  of  brightness  swept, 

And  on  the  threshold  brooded,  awfully 

Reluctant;  but  anon  the  cherubim 

And  wheels,  and  sapphire  throne,  and  firmament 

Of  crystal,  moving  silently,  forsook 

Thy  gates,  O  Zion :  and  a  little  space 

Resting  upon  the  brow  of  Olivet, 

When  the  last  sands  of  mercy  had  run  out, 

Rose  like  a  golden  sunset-cloud,  impress'd 

With  living  light,  and  as  it  vanish'd  left 

A  track  of  glory  in  the  desolate  heaven. 

i  SeeEzek.  x.  18;  xi.  22,  23. 


EZEKIEL.  125 

Joy  once  for  beautiful  Jerusalem ! 

Hers  was  the  time  of  love,1  when  cast  abroad 

A  helpless  infant  in  her  blood,  she  wept 

And  soon  had  wept  her  last :  but  lo !  the  Lord 

Passed  by,  and  o'er  her  His  wide  mantle  threw, 

And  chose  her,  and  embraced  her  with  the  arms 

Of  mercy.     And  she  grew  in  loveliness 

And  love :  her  breasts  like  sculptured  ivory 

Or  roes  that  feed  among  the  lilies : 2  grace 

Flow'd  in  her  movements ;  and  her  golden  hair 

About  her  like  a  veil  transparent  waved. 

Her  raiment  was  of  broider'd  needlework, 

And  silks  of  richest  dyes  ;  and  Ophir  hung 

Her  hands  with  bracelets,  and  her  neck  with  chains; 

And  jewels,  sparkling  as  the  dew-drops,  lit 

Her  coronet  of  gold.     But  none  may  tell 

Her  trancing  and  unearthly  comeliness, 

For  Heaven  apparell'd  her  in  robes  divine,3 

Hers  was  the  perfect  beauty  of  her  God. 

1  Ezek.  xvi.  1-14. 

2  Song  iv.  5. 

8  "  It  was  perfect  through  My  comeliness  which  I  had  put  upon  thee." 
Ezek.  xvi.  14. 


126  EZEKIEL. 

Ah,  woe  for  faithless  Salem  !  where  is  now 

The  love  of  her  espousals  ?  guilt  and  grief 

Have  written  on  her  brow  their  frequent  tale. 

It  was  a  picture  too  unstain'd  for  earth, 

And  sin  has  marr'd  a  second  Paradise, 

When  she  the  loveliest,  most  beloved  of  brides, 

Sank  harlot-like  in  base  adulterous  arms. 

The  curse  has  fallen  on  thee :  bitter  tears 

Of  blood  and  anguish  have  been  wept :  thy  bloom 

Is  trampled  in  the  dust,  thy  charms  exposed 

To  every  gazer's  ridicule ;  and  none 

But  God  could  pardon  thee.     But  hark !    He  speaks 1 

Of  pardon,  and  of  early  covenants 

Of  free  forgiveness,  and  a  happier  home 

Of  silent  love  and  humble  trustfulness. 

But  Israel  was  not  lonely  in  her  guilt, 

Nor  lonely  was  her  chastisement.     Beside 

The  flowing  waves  of  Chebar  rose  the  strains 

Of  prophecy  which  after  years  have  sung 

As  dirges  of  the  fall  of  many  lands. 

Proud  Moab  sunk  before  those  prescient  words, 

More  terrible  than  thunder,  or  the  shout 

i  Ezek.  xvi.  60-63. 


EZEKIEL.  127 

Of  conquering  foes  :  and  scoffing  Idumaea 
Grew  pale :  and  haughty  Philistina  fell, 
And  Egypt  with  her  hoary  honors  sank 
Debased.1     But  chiefly  she,  who  on  the  rocks 
Sate  moated  by  the  ocean  waves,  and  seem'd 
A  God  unto  the  nations,  peerless  Tyre, 
Wither'd  beneath  the  unsuspected  notes, 
Lone  prophet,  of  thy  awful  harp.     Long  years 
In  beauty  had  she  walk'd  the  waters :  pride 
Had  deck'd  her  prow,  and  perfected  her  shape. 
Her  masts  were  cedars  hewn  on  Lebanon, 
Her  oars  were  oaks  of  Bashan,  and  her  boards 
Of  pine  :  her  sails  were  of  Egyptian  woof, 
Twined  blue  and  purple,  and  her  mariners 
From  Zidon,  Tyrian  pilots  at  the  helm. 
Her  merchants  were  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
Tarshish  and  Tubal  and  the  tents  of  Cush, 
Damascus,  Sheba,  Araby  the  blest, 
Asshur,  and  Dan,  and  Javan.     And  her  freights 
Were  treasures  bought  or  won  from  every  land : 
Horses  and  mules,  silver  and  gold,  and  brass, 
Ebon  and  ivory  and  emeralds, 

1  Ezek.  xxv.  ;  xxix.  14. 


128  EZEKIEL. 

Coral  and  agate,  finest  flour  of  wheat. 
Honey  and  oil  and  balm,  and  luscious  wines, 
And  spices,  cassia,  nard,  and  frankincense, 
And  lambs  and  snowy  fleeces,  and  the  rams 
Of  Kedar,  and  embroider'd  robes  of  blue, 
And  every  rich,  and  every  gorgeous  thing. 
Who  might  compare  with  thee,  unrivall'd  Queen  ? 
Alas,  alas !  thy  rowers  in  their  pride 
Have  brought  thee  into  perilous  waters  —  vain 
Their  skill  and  numbers  —  for  the  Eastern  blast 
Through  rent  sails  and  through  riven  bulwarks  sweeps 
And  thy  rich  merchandise,  the  gather 'd  wealth 
Of  ages,  cast  into  the  boiling  surge 
Perfumes  the  storm  with  spices,  robes  the  waves 
With  purple  and  with  scarlet,  and  with  pearls 
And  gold  enriches  the  insatiate  deep. 
Nothing  can  save  thee  now.     A  bitter  cry 
Of  lamentation  from  thy  sinking  crew, 
Echo'd  by  wailing  ships  and  weeping  shores, 
Rises  to  heaven ;  and  on  the  billows  float 
Huge  fragments  scatter'd  by  the  winds  adrift, 
Or  cast  by  after  tempests  on  the  rocks, 
Thy  former  throne,  and  now  thy  sepulchre.1 
1  See  Ezek.  xxvi.-xxviii. 


EZEKIEL.  129 

And  shall  the  wrathful  lightnings  that  have  scathed 

All  nations,  and  the  chosen  land  of  heaven 

Leave  thee  unhumbled,  Asshur  ?     Thou  hast  grown 

As  grows  the  stately  cedar  fed  with  dews, 

And  nourish'd  by  the  snows  and  rivulets, 

Upon  the  peaks  of  Lebanon,  until 

It  rises  terribly  pre-eminent, 

And  o'er  the  forest  casts  its  haughty  shade. 

But  soon  the  storm  fell  on  thee.     Vainly  now 

Thy  iron  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  rocks, 

For  thou  art  scorch'd  and  blasted  by  the  bolts 

Of  heaven,  and  hewn  by  many  a  ruthless  arm 

Of  those  who  underneath  thy  branches  slept 

Ungrateful :  now  the  lair  of  prowling  beasts, 

Or  resting-place  of  cruel  birds  of  prey.1 

Cease  thy  dark  harpings,  prophet  of  the  Lord, 
Cease,  for  thy  voice  and  stormy  visions  cast 
Their  desolations  on  the  soul  of  him 
AVI  10  hears  entranced,  yet  cannot  choose  the  while 
But  listen.     Hark !  the  prophet  lays  his  hand 
Once  more  upon  the  trembling  chords,  and  lo, 

1  See  Ezek.  xxxi. 
6* 


130  EZEKIEL. 

A  valley,1  desolate  as  Tophet,  fill'd 

With  bones  innumerable,  sere  and  bleach'd, 

As  though  the  sudden  pestilence  of  God 

Had  fallen  on  some  mighty  host,  and  men 

Had  left  them  in  the  sun  and  winds  to  rot. 

Death  brooded  o'er  them.     But  a  voice  from  heaven 

Startles  the  awful  silence :  and  behold 

A  shaking,  and  the  bones,  bone  to  his  bone, 

Together  framed  the  perfect  skeleton ; 

And  sinews  cover'd  them,  and  flesh  and  skin, 

The  very  lineaments  of  life.     Again 

The  prophet's  voice  falls  on  them :  and  the  winds 

Breathed  like  the  quickening  Spirit  of  the  Lord 

Above  the  lifeless  slain :  and  lo,  they  rose 

An  army  numberless,  equipp'd  for  fight. 

Hope  rises  from  despair,  and  life  from  death. 

Ha !  the  dense  clouds  are  breaking :  mighty  winds 

Have  rent  a  pathway  through  their  gloom,  and  far 

Across  the  everlasting  mountains  gleam 

The  faint  streaks  of  the  morning.     What  if  soon 

One.  more  prophetic  vision  scatters  woe 

1  Ezek.  xxxvii.  1-14. 


EZEKIEL.  131 

On  Meshech  and  the  prince  of  Tubal's  host,1 
The  last  stupendous  sacrifice  of  war 
Reeking  to  heaven  from  Armageddon's  vale :  — 
It  passes  like  a  haggard  dream  away, 
And  in  the  far  horizon  (joy  for  thee, 
Ezekiel,  lonely  watchman  of  the  night) 
Grow  clearer  and  more  clear  the  roseate  hues 
Of  morning-land :  and  here  and  there  peep  forth 
The  stars  in  dewy  paleness,  soon  to  fade 
Before  the  glory  of  the  rising  Sun, 
Eising  with  healing  in  Hifl  wings.     He  comes, 
And  in  the  mellow  light  which  ushers  in 
His  advent,  to  thy  searching  ken,  O  seer, 
Stand  forth  the  turrets  of  His  temple,2  built 
Of  goodlier  stones,  and  bright  with  fairer  light 
Than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  saw : 
With  holy  courts,  and  incense  clouds  of  praise, 
And  deep  memorial  rites.     He  comes,  He  comes, 
With  rushing  wings,  and  calm  crystalline  throne : 
The  same  who  came  to  thee  by  Chebar's  banks 
And  lighten'd  thy  lone  exile :  now  the  earth 
Shines  with  the  beauty  of  His  countenance, 

1  Ezek.  xxxviii.  xxxix.  2  Ezek.  xl. 


132  EZEKIEL. 

And  heaven  rings  forth  its  welcome  jubilee. 
The  hills  have  caught  the  tidings  from  the  sky, 
Which  o'er  them  bends  in  brightness ;  and  the  glens 
Repeat  the  promise  to  re-echoing  glens ; 
The  ocean  with  its  music,  myriad-voiced, 
Bears  on  its  heaving  breast  the  rapturous  sound 
Of  Hallelujah,  and  the  morning  stars 
Sing  welcome,  and  the  sons  of  God  again 
Shout  in  their  everlasting  homes  for  joy. 

Enough  for  thee,  Ezekiel,  to  have  caught 
The  echo  of  that  music :  when  the  harp 
Of  all  creation,  jarr'd  too  long  by  sin 
And  grating  discords  manifold,  at  last 
Eetuned  and  temper'd  by  the  hand  of  God, 
Shall  yield  to  every  breath  of  heaven,  that  sweeps 
Across  its  countless  and  melodious  strings, 
Eternal  songs  of  gratitude  and  love. 

Hinton  Martell,  1854. 


JOHN   BAPTIST. 

aoTrjp  izpiv  fiev  Zlafineg  hi  ^doLaiv  kCxx, 

vvv  6e  Oavdv  Xduneig  ionepoc  tv  ^dLfdvovg. 


Soft  the  summer  sun  is  sinking  through  the  saffron  sky  to 

9 

rest : 
Soft   the  veil   of    sultry  vapor   trembles   on   the  desert's 

breast ; 
Golden,  crimson,  purple,  opal  lights  and  shadows,  warp  and 

woof, 
Wrap  the  sands  in  change,  and  flush  Machaerus'  battle- 

mented  roof. 
Saying,  "  'Tis  my  last,"  a  captive  rose  from  the  cold  dun- 
geon floor, 
Clank'd  the  fetters  with  his  rising,  lean'd  the  grated  lattice 

o'er,  — 
Gaunt  albeit  in  manhood's  prime,  as  he  through  bitter  toils 

had  pass'd, 


134  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

"  One  look  more  on  earthly  sunsets ;    my  heart  tells  me, 
'tis  the  last/' 

In  his  eye  the  fading  sunlight  linger'd  on  as  loath  to  go, 
Light  to  light  akin  and  kindling,  brother-like ;  and  to  and 

fro, 
As  the  winds  crept  o'er  the  desert  from  the  hills  of  Abarim, 
From  his  brow  his  unshorn  tresses  flutter'd  in  the  twilight 

dim. 
Now  and  then  a  passing  glory  from  the  castle's  banquet 

hall, 
Where  a  thousand  lamps  bade  thousand  guests  to  royal 

festival, 
Smote  the  topmost  turret's  ridges  with  a  gleam  of  fitful 

light, 
As  the  woven  purple  hangings,  sail-like,  caught  the  gales 

of  night: 
Now  and  then  a  gush  of  laughter ;  now  and  then  a  snatch 

of  song, 
Seem'd  to  mock  the  prisoner's  vigil,  and  to  do  his  silence 

wrong. 
Never  a  word  spake  he ;  but,  gazing  on  the  hills  and  skies 

and  stars, 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  135 

Free  in  thought,  as  Arab  ranger,  maugre  manacles  and 
bars, 

Lived  again  his  life,  its  daybreak  with  no  childish  pastimes 
boon, 

Morning,  mid-day,  and  now  evening,  ere  it  well  was  after- 
noon. 

Meet  his  early  homestead :   westward  of  that  sea  where 

plies  no  skiff, 
On  the  bare  bleak  upland,  nestling  only  to  the  rugged  cliff, 
Far  from  all  the  noise  of  cities,  far  from  all  their  idle  mirth, 
Where  God's  voice  was  heard  in  whispers,  and  the  heavens 

were  near  to  earth, 
There  he  grew,  as  grows  the  lonely  pine  upon  the  fore- 
land's crest, 
Fronting  tempests,  northward,  southward,  sweep  they  east 

or  sweep  they  west, 
Wrapping  round  the  rocks  her  roots  like  iron  bands  in 

breadth  and  length, 
Here  and  there  a  moss  or  lichen  shedding  tenderness  on 

strength. 
Thus  he  grew :    the  child  of  age,  no  brother  clasp'd  in 

equal  arms, 


136  JOHN    BAPTIST. 


No  sweet  sister  throwing  o'er  him  the  pure  magic  of  her 

charms'; 
Heir  of  all  his  father's  ripe  experience  both  of  things  and 

men, 
Ripen'd  by  the  mellow  suns  that  shine  on  threescore  years 

and  ten ; 
Heir  of  all  his  saintly  mother's  burning  concentrated  love, 
Pent  for  decades  and  now  loosen'd  by  a  mandate  from 

above. 
For  the  rest,  no  human  friendship  shared  his  fellowship 

with  God, 
Lonely  like  the  lonely  Enoch  was  the  path  his  spirit  trod : 
Meet  for  him  whose  fearless  banner  was   ere-long   aloft 

unfurl'd, 
God's  ambassador,  Christ's  herald,  in  a  lapsed  and  guilty 

world. 

Gliding  years  pass'd  on ;  and  childhood  grew  to  youth,  and 

youth  to  prime : 
Bodings  fill'd  the  land,  and  rulers  call'd  the  age  a  troublous 

time. 
Let  it  be  —  all  time  is  troublous  ;  and  there  is  no  crystal 

sea 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  137 

Betwixt  EdeD  and  the  trumpet  ushering  in  the  great  To 
be. 

Nathless  storms  were  rife,  and  rumors  each  the  other 
chased  from  Rome, 

Though  their  echo  knock'd  but  feebly  at  the  porch  of  that 
far  home ; 

And  they  scarcely  stirr'd  the  pulses  in  the  old  man's  lan- 
guid heart, 

As  he  pled  the  prayer  of  Simeon,  "  Let  me  now  in  peace 
depart ; " 

Scarcely  jarr'd  the  heavenly  foretastes  of  the  rapt  Eliza- 
beth, 

Oft  as  was  her  wont  repeating,  "Welcome  life,  thrice 
welcome  death." 

Droop'd  they  both  with  drooping  autumn,  with  the  dying 
year  they  died, 

And  in  one  deep  stony  chamber  slumber  sweetly  side  by 
side ; 

But  before  they  slept  confided  to  the  Baptist's  ear  a  story, 

Richer  heirloom,  loftier  honor  than  the  wide  world's 
wealth  and  glory  :  — 

From  his  sire  he  heard  the  marvel  of  his  own  predestined 
birth, 


138  JOHN   BAPTIST. 

From   his  mother's   lips  a  mystery  which    transcends  all 
things  of  earth. 

Now  the  lonely  home  was  lonelier,  now  the  silence  more 

unmarr'd, 
Now  his  rough-spun  dress  was  rougher,  and  his  hardy  fare 

more  hard. 
Yet  he  moved  not.     God  who  guided  Israel  o'er  the  track- 
less waste, 
When  his  hour  was  come,  would  call  him  ;  and  with  God 

there  is  no  haste. 
Meanwhile  of  all  sacred  stories,  which  his  bosom  fired  and 

fill'd, 
One,  the  Tishbite,  more  intensely  through  and  through  his 

bosom  thriird. 
O  that  sacrifice  on  Carmel ;  —  O  that  fire  that  fell  from 

heaven ;  — 
O  that  nation's  shout  "  Jehovah ; " —  O  that  bloody  stormy 

even ;  — 
O  that  solitary  cavern ;  —  0  that  strong  and  dreadful  wind ; 
Rocking   earthquake,  flames  of  vengeance;    O  that  still 

small  Voice  behind: 
Those  long  years  of  patient  witness,  crown'd  by  victory  at 

last : 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  139 

Israel's  chariot,  Israel's  horsemen  !  like  a  dream  the  vision 

pass'd. 
"  Would  to  God  the  prophet's  mantle  might  but  fall  upon 

my  soul ! 
Would  to  God  a  seraph  touch  me  with  Esaias'  living  coal ! " 

As  he  pray'd,  his  soul  was  troubled  with  a  sudden  storm  of 

thought, 
And  again  was  hush'd  in  silence  with  profounder  feeling 

fraught : 
And  the  Spirit's  accents,  —  whether  on  his  mortal  ear  they 

fell, 
Or  without  such  audience  trembled  on    his   spirit,  none 

might  tell, 
But  they  came  to  him.     The  altar  had  been  built  and  piled 

and  laid : 
God  himself  alone  must  kindle  that  which  He  alone  had 

made. 
Through  the  crowded  streets  of  Salem,  see,  they  whisper 

man  to  man, 
Like  a   flash    of  summer  lightning  through  the  heavens, 

the  tidings  ran : 
"  In  the  wilderness  by  Jordan  unto  us  a  Voice  is  sent, 


140  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

God  is  on  His  way.     His  herald  cries  before  He  comes, 
Repent." 

On  the   mart  of  busy  traffic,  on  the  merchant's  growing 

hoard, 
On  the  bridegroom's  perfumed  chamber,  on  the  banquet's 

festive  board, 
On  the  halls  where  pleasure  squander'd  all  the  heaps  of 

avarice, 
On  the  dreams  of  blind  devotion,  on  the  loathsome  haunts 

of  vice, 
Like  a  thunder-roll  the  tidings  fell,  and  lo  !  the    sudden 

gloom 
Then  and  there  gave  fearful  presage  of  the  coming  day  of 

doom. 
But  the  workman  left  his  workshop,  and  the  merchant  left 

his  wares, 
And  the  miser  left  his  coffers,  and  the  Pharisee  his  prayers : 
From  Jerusalem  to  Jordan,  see  they  pour  a  motley  group, 
Young  men,  maidens,  old  men,  children,  priests  and  people, 

troop  on  troop : 
Neighbor  thought  not  now  of  neighbor,  parent  scarcely 

thought  of  child : 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  141 

There  were  few  who  spoke  or  answer'd,  there  were  none 

who  jeer'd  or  smiled  : 
No  one  wept :  tyrannic  conscience  seal'd  their  eyes  and  ears 

and  lips, 
And  Eternity  was  shadowing  Time  with  terrible  eclipse. 

There    it  wound  that  ancient  river:  there  he  stood,  that 
lonely  man. 

Is  it  yet  too  late  ?  to  rearmost  some  shrank  back,  some  for- 
ward ran : 

Brave  men  quaiTd,  and  timid  women  bolder  seem'd  beneath 
his  eye: 

Age  grew  flush'd,  and  youth  grew  paler,  and  the  voice  was 
heard  to  cry, 

"  God  is  on  His  way.     The  Judge  already  stands  before 
the  gate. 

Make  the  lofty  low  before  Him,  rugged  smooth,  and  crooked 
straight." 

As  the    multitudes  in  thousands  round  him   throng'd,  a 
timorous  flock, 

Fell  his  words  like  hail  in  harvest,  like  the  hammer  on  the 
rock, 

Breaking  stony  hearts  to  shivers,  cloaking,  sparing,  soften- 
ing nought, 


142  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

But  with  lightning  flash  revealing  midnight  mysteries  of 

thought. 
God  was  Master,  man  was  servant ;  right  was  right,  and 

wrong  was  wrong : 
Sinners  might  dream  on  a  little,  but  the  respite  was  not 

long. 
Good  or  evil  fruit-trees  —  whether  of  the  twain?  no  test 

but  fruit : 
Cut  it  down ;  the  fire  is  kindled,  and  the  axe  lies  at  the 

root. 
Wherefore   call  themselves  the  children  of  the  God-like 

Abraham  ? 
Things  that  are  alone  are  precious  unto  the  supreme 

I  AM. 
Generation  bred  of  vipers,  wherefore  are  they  pale  and 

dumb? 
Will  they  flee  ?  oh,  who  hath  warn'd  them  of  the  dreadful 

wrath  to  come  ? 
Are  the  dry  bones  stirring,  breathing?     God  can  raise  up 

men  from  stones. 
See  the  Lamb,  the  dying  Victim !  only  life  for  life  atones : 
And  the  deep  red  current,  flowing  from  the  firstlings  Abel 

vow'd, 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  143 

Cries  from  age  to  age  for  mercy,  louder  yet,  and  yet  more 

loud, 
Till  the  sacrifice  be  offer'd  for  the  world's  stupendous  guilt, 
And  the  Lamb  of  God  is  smitten  on  the  altar  God  has 

built. 
Is  the  hard  heart  bruised  and  contrite  ?     Do  they  weep  and 

vow  and  pray  ? 
It  is  well ;  let  Jordan's  waters  wash  their  loathed  stains 

away. 
But  the  coming  One,  whose  coming  now  was  every  mo- 
ment nigher, 
He,  the  Son  of  God,  baptizes  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and 

fire: 
In  His  hand  the  fan  that  winnows ;  at  His  feet  the  harvest 

floor; 
Chaff  the  food  for  quenchless  burnings ;  garner'd  wheat  for 

evermore. 

So  it  was  from  dawn  to  sunset,  so  it  was  from  day  to  day, 
Thousands  coming,  thousands  going,  till  the  summer  wore 

away : 
Ever  seem'd  the  voice  more  solemn,  and  the  message  more 

sublime : 


14.4  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

Jordan's  lonesome  fords  were  crowded  like  God's   hill  at 

Paschal  time. 
When  one  eve, — the  roseate  West  was  watching  for  the 

tardy  sun, — 
Mingling  with  that  throng  of  sinners  came  the  Only  Sinless 

One; 
And  the  Master  knelt  a  suppliant,  and  abash'd  the  servant 

stood, 
While  the  holy  Christ  demanded  baptism  in  that  cleansing 

flood. 
It  is  done :  Messiah  rises  from  the  parted  waves ;  and  lo, 
The  blue  heavens  are  rent  asunder,  and  a  Dove,  more  white 

than  snow, 
From  the  gates  of  light  descending  like  a  crown  of  glory 

glow'd, 
Moving  towards  Him,  hovering  o'er  Him,  brooding  on  His 

head,  abode : 
And  a  Voice  more  deep  than  thunder  from  the  everlasting 

Throne, 
"  Thou,  my  Son,  my  well  Beloved,  Thou  art  my  delight 

alone." 
This  the  Baptist  heard.     And  straightway  Love  Divine 

his  soul  possess'd. 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  145 

Henceforth  all  his  yearning  spirit  found  its  centre,  knew 

its  rest. 
Solitudes  no  more  were  lonely,  wildernesses  were  not  wild : 
He  had  seen  the  Word  Incarnate,  seen  the  Father's  Holy 

Child. 
And  the  pure  ideal  imaged  in  his  heart  of  hearts  was  such 
That  no  earthly  joys  could  dim  it,  and  no  human  sorrows 

touch. 
Let  the  vex'd  waves  surge  around  him !     Welcome,  weari- 
ness and  strife ! 
Christ  was  now  his  peace,  his  passion  —  the  one  passion  of 

his  life. 
He  must  decrease,  Christ  must  increase,  and  His  kingdom 

know  no  end. 
He  had  heard  the  Bridegroom's  accents,  he  was  calTd  the 

Bridegroom's  friend. 
Be  it  that  his  days  were  number'd ;  this  was  joy  enough 

for  him ; 
And  his  cup  of  life  was  mantling  to  the  overflowing  brim. 
Let  his  lamp  grow  pale  and  paler ;  only  let  the  Sun  be 

bright, 
And  the  day-star  hide  its  radiance  in  that  perfect  Light  of 

Light. 

7 


146  JOHN   BAPTIST. 

So  his  breast  grew  calm  and  calmer,  less  of  self  and  selfish 

leaven ; 
So  the  fire  burn'd  pure  and  purer,  less  of  earth  and  more 

of  heaven; 
And  a  loftier  hope  sustain'd  him,  as  his  destined  path  he 

trod, 
Preaching  a  world-wide  salvation,  heralding  the  Lamb  of 

God! 
And  the  voice  rang  in  the  palace,  as  in  hovel  and  in  tent, 
"  Lo  the  coming  One  is  come :  His  kingdom  is  at  hand : 

repent." 

Herod  heard  him,  and  Herodias,  seated  on  their  ivory 
throne. 

Something  in  them  craved  an  audience,  and  he  spake  to 
them  alone ; 

Spake  of  sin  and  death  and  judgment,  things  done  wrong 
and  undone  things. 

What  to  him  a  royal  sinner  ?  He  had  seen  the  King  of 
kings ! 

Herod  trembled :  deeds  of  rapine  cluster'd  round  his  by- 
gone path, 

Spectres  of  departed  passions,  harbingers  of  coming  wrath. 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  147 

Bid  them  all  avaunt  for  ever !     Blot  them  from  his  feverish 

view! 
Still  forgotten  crimes  are   rising,  and  his    tortured  soul 

pursue. 
He  will  doff  his  purple  robes,  in  sackcloth  and  in  ashes 

He. 
What  is  time  ?     A  day  dream.     Oh,  that  burning  word, 

eternity ! 
Not  enough  ?     Why  looks  the  Baptist  with  that  fix'd  and 

solemn  gaze  ? 
Gold  and  silver,  pearls  and  rubies,  on  the  temple  gate  shall 

blaze. 
Not  enough  ?     Why  looks  the  Baptist  piercing  through  his 

soul  and  life  ? 
Ha !  the  queen,  his  royal  consort !  nay,  his  brother  Philip's 

wife. 
Herod  shrank,  but  smiled  Herodias,  though  the  gathering 

vengeance  drain'd 
Lip  of  blood,  and  cheek  of  blushes.     Further  answer  she 

disdain'd, 
But  arose,  drew  forth  the  monarch,  said  their  royal  tryst 

was  o'er ; 
And  that  night  in  chains  the  Baptist  press'd  Machaerus' 

dungeon  floor. 


148  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

Thrice  since  then  had  Spring  and   Summer  carpeted  the 

earth  with  flowers ; 
But  those  dreary  walls  unchanging  fenced  his  slow  and 

changeless  hours, 
Save  there  grew  'twixt  blocks  of  granite  from  some  chance- 
sown  seed  a  fern ; 
And  the  captive  watch'd  it  ever  with  the  daylight's  first 

return, 
Drinking  in  the  earliest  sunbeam,  beaded  with  its  dewy 

tears, 
All  its  tender  leaflets  laden  and  emboss'd  for  future  years. 
And  it  spake  to  him.     It  chanced  there  visited  his  lonely 

cell, 
Chuza,  seneschal  of  Herod ;  and  a  word  of  power  that  fell 
From  the  Baptist's  lips  found  lodgement  in  the  deep  repose 

of  thought 
Hidden   in   a   kindred   nature,    truthful,   generous,   nobly 

wrought. 
So   it  was,  an   unknown   friendship   unsuspected  entrance 

gains 
For  a  love  that  loved  their  master  better,  dearer  for  his 

chains ; 
Whence  he  knew  One  name  was  wafted  now  on  every 

passing  breath, 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  149 

Filling  Judea's  hills  and  valleys  with  the  fame  of  Naza- 
reth. 

Joy  for  thee !  no  weak  reed  shaken  by  the  fickle  fitful 
wind: 

No  soft  courtier  clothed  in  raiment  woven  in  the  looms  of 
Ind: 

O  true  prophet,  more  than  prophet !  voice  of  God !  Mes- 
siah's friend ! 

Burning,  shining,  let  thy  beacon  blaze  unwavering  to  the 
end ! 

Musing  thus  his  past,  the  captive  on  his  watch  nor  slept 

nor  stirr'd, 
And  the  hours  slid  by  unheeded,  and  the  cock  crew  twice 

unheard : 
And  the  dewy  stars  more  faintly  glimmer'd  in  the  doubtful 

gloom, 
And  the  bursts  of  mirth  were  fewer  from  the  royal  banquet 

room. 
Thither  Galilee  had  summon'd  all  her  loveliness  and  state, 
And  her  loveliest  there  seem'd  lovelier,  and  her  greatness 

there  more  great : 
Flow'd   the   purple   wine   like    water :     Eden's   perfumes 

fill'd  the  hall; 


150  JOHN    EAPTIST. 

And  the  lamps  through  roseate  colors  shed  a  soften'd  light 

on  all. 
Mirth  and  Music  hand  in  hand  were  floating  through  the 

fairy  scene ; 
All  were  praising  Herod's  glory,  all  were  lauding  Herod's 

queen  ; 
When  at  given  sign  was  silence,  and  the  guests  reclined 

around, 
And  a  lonely  harper,  waking  from  the  chords  a  dreamlike 

sound, 
Breathed  delight  and  soft  enchantment  over  ear  and  heart 

and  soul : 
None  could  choose  but  list,  and  listening,  none  their  ten- 

derest  thoughts  control : 
When  the  young,  the  fair  Salome,  from  her  chamber  gently 

slid, 
Nor  loose  veil,  nor  golden  tresses  half  her  mantling  blushes 

hid: 
Young  Salome,  sixteen  summers  scarcely  on  her  bloom  had 

smiled ; 
Art  was  none,  but  artless  beauty  ;  Nature's  simplest,  fond- 
est child. 
At  the  banquet's  edge  she  linger'd,  to  her  mother's  side 

she  press'd, 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  151 

/ 

And  assay'd  to  dance,  and  falter'd  trembling ;    but  again 

caress'd, 
As  those  wild  notes  with  a  stronger  witchery  on  her  spirit 

fell, 
Stole  into  the  midst,  and  startled,  timid  as  a  young  gazelle, 
Trod  the  air  with  printless  footsteps,  as  the  breezes  tread 

the  sea, 
Moved  to  every  tone  responsive,  like  embodied  melody : 
Till  embolden'd,  as  she  floated  like  a  cloud  of  light  along, 
Mingled  with  melodious  music  gentler  cadences  of  song, 
And  when  every  ear  was  ravish'd,  every  heart  subdued 

with  love, 
Dropp'd  at  length,  as  drops  the  skylark  from  its    azure 

home  above, 
Swiftly  with  an  angel's  swiftness,  with  a  mortal's  sweetness 

sweet, 
Glowing,  trembling,  trusting,  loving  —  dropp'd  at  length  at 

Herod's  feet 

Heaven  be  witness,  Herod  grants  her  the   petition   she 

prefers : 
Half  his  kingdom  were  mean  dowry  for  a  loveliness  like 

hers. 


152  JOHN    BAPTIST. 

To  Herodias  young  Salome  fondly   turns,   with  grateful 

smiles : 
Gold  of  Ophir,  pearls  of  ocean,  nard  and  spice  of  happier 

isles,  — 
What  of    choice  and  costly  treasures,  choicest,  costliest, 

shall  she  claim? 
Then  a  glare  of  fiendish  triumph  in  that  cruel  cold  eye 

came ; 
And  the  queen's  heart  heaved  with  vengeance;    and  she 

gasp'd  with  quicken'd  breath 
Brief  words  of  envenom'd  malice,  warrant  of  the  prophet's 

death. 
Why  that  sudden  ashy  pallor  ?  why  that  passionate  caress  ? 
Bends  the  sapling  in  the  tempest:    weakness   yields   to 

wickedness. 

Musing  still  his  past,  the  captive  on  his  watch  nor  slept  nor 

stirr'd, 
And  the  dawn  drew  on  unheeded,  and  the  cock  crew  thrice 

unheard. 
Of  the  sentinels  of  morning,  shining  over  Abarim, 
Only  one  was  left,  the  day-star ;  and  its  lamp  was  growing 

dim. 


JOHN    BAPTIST.  153 

Hark !  the  bolt  is  drawn,  how  slowly :  see !  the  dungeon 
door  flung  wide : 

Weapons  gleam  along  the  passage :  armed  men  are  by  his 
side. 

In  their  looks  he  read  his  sentence,  and  he  knew  his  hour 
was  come, 

And  his  proud  neck  meekly  oflfer'd  to  the  stroke  of  mar- 
tyrdom : 

And,  as  flash'd  the  headsman's  broadsword,  rose  the  sun  on 
Pisgah's  height ; 

And  the  morning  star  was  hidden  in  the  flood  of  golden 
light. 

186a 


7* 


THE   FAVORITISMS   OF    HEAVEN. 

In  the  evening  we  can  longest  tarry  by  the  twilight  shore, 
For  at  even  dreams  float  on  for  ever  and  for  evermore : 
In  the  evening  stars  that  glimmer  one  by  one  from  out  the 

sky 
Tell  in  tones  that  touch  us  nearly  how  in  silence  time  fleets 

by: 
And  a  voice  like  none  beside  them  have  the  winds  of  fall- 
ing night, 
Hurrying  on  our  spirits  with  them  up  to  Memory's  cloudy 

height. 
In  the  evening,  too,  ariseth  Hope  with  all  her  faery  train, 
Turning  from  the  roseate  Past  to  tell  us  such  shall  come 

again. 
And  at  chiming  of  the  vespers,  as  it  chanced,  my  thoughts 
I  cast, 


THE    FAVORITISMS    OF   HEAVEN.  155 

Half  awake  and  half  in  dreamings,  over  my  far-crowded 

Past. 
And  is't  mine  then  ?  —  Some  one  answers,  "  How  or  what 

is  it  to  thee  ? 
Nothing  but  a  train  of  memories  like  a  silver  mist  at  sea : 
Here  and  therje  a  glory  scatter'd  from  the  starlight  or  the 

moon, 
Rising  like  all  things  of  time,  —  enthusiast!  vanishing  as 

soon. 
Thine  the  present  is  —  go,  grasp  it ;  thine  the  future  may 

be  said ; 
But  the  Past  is  nothing,  nothing  but  the   shadow  of   a 

shade." 

Ceased  the  voice,  and  much  I  wonder'd,  but  I  scarcely 

dared  to  doubt. 
When  another  spirit  answer'd  from  the  silence  speaking 

out,  — 
"  Brother,  nay  —  the  Past  seems  vanish'd  save  to  Memory's 

listless  eye: 
No  —  no  —  no  —  the  Past  is  deathless  and  its  record  is  on 

high.- 

List !    it  rose  a  heaving  landscape,  scarce  defined  yet  won- 
drous strange, 


156  THE    FAV0R1TISMS    OF   HEAVEN. 

Gloom  and  glory  like  a  moon-trance  flitting  o'er  in  cease- 
less change. 
There  were  springs  of  crystal  rapture,  rivulets  of  sorrow 

too, 
Passion  with  her  storm-tost  surges,  Peace  a  lake  of  softest 

blue. 
Long  my  musings  like  a  wanderer  wandering   o'er   the 

haunts  of  youth, 
Slow  retraced  each  by-gone  feeling  in  their  lucid  depths  of 

truth, 
Till  upon  love's  fount  they  centred,  purest  of  all  waves  that 

flow, 
Fed  itself   of  heaven,  yet  feeding  all  the  myriad  flowers 

below. 

Lean  thy  heart  on  mine,  beloved,  —  listen  —  I  have  heard 

men  say 
That  the  fondnesses  of  earth  will  pass  with  earthly  things 

away; 
All  the  silent  eloquence  of  clasped  hands  and  falling  tears, 
All  the  musical  low  whispers  like  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
All  the  thrilling  strange  entrancement  fluttering  over  cheek 

and  eye, 


THE   FAVORITISMS    OF   HEAVEN.  157 

Like  the  purple  lightning  playing  with  the  stars  in  yon  blue 

sky;  — 
Things  we  love,  because  they  tell  us  of  the  loving  heart 

within, 
Feelings  of  the  inmost  fountain  far  beyond  the  touch  of 

sin  ;  — 
These,  they  say,  are  human  frailties,  frailties  born  of  sense 

and  time, 
But  will  be  no  more  remember'd  when  we  reach  our  native 

clime. 
There,  they  say,  we  all  are  one,  and  none  can  love  thee 

least  or  best, 
But  as  brethren  all  are  equal  through  the  myriads  of  the 

blest. 

It  may  be  an  idle  question  —  be  my  wayward  heart  for- 
given— 

How  earth's  love  shall  wear  the  gorgeous  bright  apparelling 
of  heaven. 

It  may  be  we  are  too  venturous,  for  the  light  is  faint  and 
dim, 

And  but  little  knows  the  pilgrim  of  the  life  of  seraphim. 

Yet  I  love  to  think,  mine  own  one,  I  shall  love  thee  there 
as  here, 


158  THE    FAVORITISM?    OF    HEAVEN. 

Best  of  all  created  beings,  best  of  all  that  angel  sphere. 
Read  we  not  of  earth  the  seed-time  for  the  glorious  world 

to  come  ? 
Faith  receiving  there  her  guerdon,  sin  her  saddest  dreariest 

doom? 
Have  not  all  the  things  of  lifetime  issues  infinite  above  ? 
And  shall  love  reap  there  no  harvest  of  the  scatter'd  seeds 

of  love? 
What  if    now  we  steep  affection  oft   in  weeping,  oft  in 

sighs,— 
They  who  sow  in  tears,  beloved,  reap  the  rapture   of  the 

skies. 

True  that  we  can  tell  but  little  how  the  full  flood-tide  of 
love 

Swells  from  out  a  thousand  rivulets  in  a  thousand  hearts 
above ; 

True  we  know  not  now  the  rapture,  nor  a  thousandth  thou- 
sandth part, 

Seeing  Him  we  loved  unseen,  and  face  to  face  and  heart  to 
heart, 

Not  a  cloud  to  dim  that  sunshine,  there  no  sorrow,  no  alarms, 

But  around  thee  and  beneath  thee  spread  the  Everlasting 
arms. 


THE    FAVORITISMS    OF    HEAVEN.  159 

There  untravell'd  worlds  of  beauty  slow  unfolding  on  our 

sight, 
Spann'd  by  heaven's  eternal  rainbow,  interwoven  love  and 

light. 
But  those  glories  none  may  utter :  how  should  I  then  tell  it 

thee? 
For  how  faint  and  far  the  glimmerings  of  the  waves  of 

heaven's  Light-sea ! 
Yet,  mine  own  one,  tell  me  truly,  think'st  thou  we  shall  love 

the  less  ? 
Will  that  ocean  whelm  the  fountains  of  thine  own  true- 

heartedness  ? 
Hark,  thy  beating  heart  makes  answer  in  its  old  familiar 

tone, 
"  All  thine  own  on  earth,  beloved,  and  in  glory  all  thine 

own." 

Watton,  1844. 


TO   MY    SISTER,    ON   THE   EVE   OF   HER 
MARRIAGE. 


Thou  art  leaving  the  home  of  thy  childhood. 

Sweet  sister  mine : 
Is  the  song  of  the  bird  of  the  wild  wood 

Faint  and  far  as  thine  ? 
Listless  stray  thy  fingers  through  the  chords, 
Thy  voice  falters  in  the  old  familiar  words ; 
What  wilt  thou  for  the  young  glad  voices 
Wherewith  our  earliest  home  rejoices  ? 
A  father's  smile  benign, 
A  mother's  love  divine, 
Sweet  sister  mine  ? 


TO  MY  SISTER,  ON  THE  EVE  OF  HER  MARRIAGE.       161 

II. 

Lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  mouth,  brother, 

Lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  mouth  ; 
One  word  thou  hast  spoken,  —  but  another 

Were  perhaps  too  much  for  truth. 
Home  is  left  —  oh !  yes,  if  leaving 

Be  when  home  is  in  our  heart : 
Grieving  —  yes,  'tis  grief,  if  grieving 

Be  for  those  who  cannot  part 
We  are  one,  brother,  we  are  one,  — 
Since  first  the  golden  cord  was  spun : 
It  may  lengthen,  but  it  cannot  sever, 
For,  brother,  it  was  twined  —  and  twined  for  ever. 

in. 
Sister,  touch  again  thy  passionate  lute  — 

Chide  no  more  —  chide  no  more : 
Sooner  far  my  voice  were  ever  mute, 

Than  to  whisper  our  fond  love  were  o'er. 
But  I  grieve  for  hours  gone  by, 
Of  heart  to  heart,  and  eye  to  eye ; 
Oh,  we  cannot  have  the  joy  of  meeting 
Day  by  day  thy  sunny,  smiling  greeting ; 


162      TO  MY  SISTER,  ON  THE  EVE  OF  HER  MARRIAGE. 

Nor  canst  thou  a  brother's  fond  caress, 
Or  a  sister's  searching  tenderness ; 
Grieve  I  too  for  summer  flowers, 

In  calm  weather 1 

Cull'd  together, 
And  the  merriment  of  fireside  hours. 
Something  whispers,  though  our  heartstrings  cannot  sever, 
These  are  gone,  sister,  —  gone  for  ever. 
And  for  these  I  must  repine,  — 

Sweet  sister  mine. 

IV. 

And  my  tears  shall  flow  with  thine,  brother, 
At  the  sound  of  those  quick  chimes ; 
And  the  thought  of  home  —  my  father  and  my  mother  — 
Overfloods  my  heart  at  times ; 
And  my  grief  will  have  its  way : 
And  though  to-morrow 
Joy  chaseth  sorrow, 
Sorrow  chaseth  joy  to-day. 
Tell  me,  wherefore  should  I  lull  myself  asleep  ? 
Let  me  weep,  brother,  —  let  me  weep. 

1  "  In  a  season  of  calm  weather."  —  Wordsworth. 


TO  MY  SISTER,  ON  THE  EVE  OF  HER  MARRIAGE.       163 


V. 

Nay,  I  will  not,  cannot,  sister,  see  them  flow : 

Weep  no  more,  weep  no  more. 
There  is  solace  from  the  deepest  of  our  woe, 

That  our  partings  will  ere  long  be  o'er. 
We  are  one  in  joys  undying, 
In  the  family  of  Heaven, 
And  we  mourn  not,  like  the  Pleiads  ever  sighing, 

"We  have  lost  our  sister  —  we  were  seven." 
Still,  however  wide  our  pilgrim  footsteps  roam, 
Bright  and  glorious 
Lie  before  us 
Mansions  in  an  everlasting  home. 
Trust  me,  sister ;  wherefore  dost  thou  weep  so  sore  ? 
Weep  no  more,  sister,  —  weep  no  more. 
For  my  spirit  catches  all  the  bloom  of  thine, 
Nor  can  I  in  thy  prime  of  bliss  repine, 
Sweet  sister  mine. 


DER  AUSRUF. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    KORNER. 


Horror-boding,  wild  and  ruddy, 

Looms  the  morning,  strange  as  night, 
And  the  sunbeams,  cold  and  bloody, 
Track  our  bloody  path  with  light : 
In  the  coming  hour's  bosom 

Clasp'd  the  fates  of  nations  lie, 
And  the  lot  already  trembles, 
And  there  falls  the  iron  die ! 
There's  a  claim  on  thee,  brother,  of  holiest  power, 
And  a  pledge  to  redeem  in  this  dawning  hour ; 

True  in  life,  true  in  death,  when  life  has  pass'd  by. 


DER   AUSRUF.  165 


II. 

In  the  gloom  of  night  behind  us 

Lie  the  haunts  our  foemen  spoke, 
And  the  wrecks  that  still  remind  us 

Strangers  cleft  Germania's  oak  : 
Spurn'd  is  the  tongue  we  lisp'd  in  childhood, 

Ruin'd  lie  our  shrines  and  low, 
But  our  faith  is  pledged,  brethren, 
Haste  —  redeem  that  pledge  of  woe. 
There  are  flames  in  our  laud,  —  up,  brethren !    and  slay, 
That  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  may  turn  away  — 
The  Palladium  lost  redeem  from  the  foe. 

in. 

Blissful  visions  lie  before  us,  — 

Lie  the  future's  golden  years,  — 
Stretch  blue  heavens  their  curtains  o'er  us, 

Freedom  smiles  amid  her  tears ; 
German  art  and  German  music, 

Beauty,  love's  entrancing  chain,  — 
All  that's  noble,  all  that's  lovely, 

Float  in  prospect  back  again. 


166  DER    AUS11UF. 

But  a  death-bearing  venture  is  yet  to  be  pass'd 
On  the  chance  must  our  life  and  our  life-blood  be  cast, 
And  Joy  only  blooms  o'er  the  victim  slain. 

IV. 

Death  —  now  with  our  God  we'll  dare  it, 

Hand  in  hand  our  fate  defy, 
And  our  frail  heart,  sternly  bear  it 

To  the  altar,  there  to  die. 
Fatherland !    at  thy  great  bidding 
Here  we  yield  our  life  for  thee, 
That  our  loved  ones  may  inherit 

What  our  blood  bequeaths  them  free. 
May  thy  free  oaks,  my  fatherland,  proudly  wave 
O'er  thy  children's  corse  and  their  silent  grave. 
And  hear  thou  the  oath,  and  the  covenant  see. 


Give  ye  yet  one  blessed  token 

Of  a  glance  towards  beauty's  bowers, 

Though  the  poisonous  South  hath  broken 
All  the  bliss  of  spring-tide  flowers ; 


DER    AUSRUF.  167 

Let  your  eyes  be  dim  with  teardrops, 

Teardrops  cannot  bring  you  shame ; 
Throw  ye  one  last  kiss  towards  them, 
Then  to  God  breathe  low  their  name. 
The  lips  that  pray  for  us  at  night  and  at  morn, 
The  hearts  that  have  loved  us,  the  hearts  we  have  torn, 
For  them,  O  our  Father,  Thy  solace  we  claim. 

VI. 

On !   now  to  the  battle  gory ! 

Eye  and  heart  towards  yonder  light ! 
Earth  is  done  with,  and  heaven's  glory 

Rises  dimly,  grandly  bright. 
Cheer  ye,  German  brethren !    cheer  ye,  — 

Every  nerve  in  conflict  swell ; 
True  hearts  shall  be  reunited, 
Only  for  this  world  farewell. 
Hark !   the  thunders  are  rolling,  the  battle  is  warm,  — 
On,  brethren,  on  to  the  lightning  storm ! 
Till  we  meet  in  a  happier  world,  farewell. 

Walton,  1845. 


WIEGENLIED. 


TRANSLATED    FROM   KORNER. 


Oh,  slumber  softly  —  on  thy  mother  sleeping 
Thou  feelest  not  life's  anguish  and  unrest ; 

Thy  light  dreams  know  not  grief,  and  fear  not  weeping, 
And  thy  whole  world  is  now  thy  mother's  breast 

For,  ah !   how  sweetly  in  early  hours  one  dreameth 
When  in  a  mother's  love  life's  dews  distil, 

Though  the  dim  memory  unabiding  seemeth 
But  a  far  hope  that  trembles  through  me  still. 

Thrice  may  this  glow  pass  o'er  us  sweetly  shining ; 

Thrice  to  the  happy  spirit  is  it  given, 
Awhile  in  Love's  celestial  arms  reclining, 

On  earth  to  picture  life's  ideal  heaven. 


WIEGENLIKP.  169 

For  it  is  she  who  first  the  nurseling  blesses, 
When  in  bright  joys  he  takes  his  infant  part, 

All  to  his  young  glance  seem  to  shower  caresses, 
Love  holds  him  to  his  mother's  beating  heart 

And  when  the  clear  blue  heavens  are  clouded  over, 
And  now  his  pathway  lies  through  strange  alarms, 

When  first  his  soul  is  trembling  as  a  lover, 
A  second  time  Love  clasps  him  in  her  arms. 

Ah,  still  in  storms  the  floweret's  stem  is  broken, 
And  breaks  the  fluttering  heart  by  tempests  riven ; 

Then  Love  ariseth  with  her  choicest  token,  * 

And  as  Death's  angel  bears  him  home  to  heaven. 

Watton,  1845. 


1  1    / 


IN  IMITATION  OF   KORNER'S 
"DAS   WARST   DU." 


For  long  o'er  life's  calm  waves  I  wended, 

Beloved,  far  from  thee  alone ; 

And  many  stars  my  path  attended, 

And  each  their  tale  of  music  ended 

With  warblings  of  their  own. 


ii. 

Strange  were  the  dreams  that  round  me  floated, 

And  beautiful  their  various  tone, 
But  like  a  child  on  each  I  doted, 
To  each  my  frail  heart  seem'd  devoted, 

For  all  were  then  mine  own. 


IN  IMITATION  OF  KORNER's  "  DAS  WARST  DU."       171 


III. 

And,  like  a  young  unpractised  singer, 

Who  hath  nor  tears  nor  sorrow  known, 
Stray'd  through  the  strings  my  heedless  finger, 
If  only  passing  dreams  would  linger, 
A  moment  for  mine  own. 


IV. 

Then,  as  a  nymph  of  fabling  story, 

Or  spirit  seen  in  dreams  alone, 
Thou  passedst  by  me  —  a  far  glory, 
Glancing  through  dim  clouds  transitory, 
In  beauty  all  thine  own. 


An  hour,  and  all  was  still  around  me : 

But,  oh !  that  vision's  magic  zone, 
It  left  me  not  as  erst  it  found  me, 
But  like  a  strange  wild  witchery  bound  me, 
A  witchery  of  its  own. 


172      IN    IMITATION  OF  KORNER's  "  DAS  WARST  DU.M 

VI. 

At  last  I  went,  my  sail  unfurling, 

On  life's  first  billowy  waves  alone, 
Light  breezes  were  the  waters  curling, 
And  sunlight  every  drop  empearling, 
With  radiance  like  its  own. 


VII. 

Oh,  still  that  form  my  spirit  haunted, 

Though  its  deep  semblance  scarce  was  known, 
Thy  steps  were  on  the  light  clouds  planted, 
And  what  of  sweetness  music  chanted 
Seem'd  borrow'd  from  thine  own. 


Vin. 

Beloved,  that  was  blest,  but  sadness 

Broods  alway  o'er  the  heart's  unknown : 
Now  dreams  have  pass'd,  and  springs  of  gladness, 
But  I  may  not  tell  —  to  tell  were  madness  — 
What  joy-springs  are  mine  own. 


IN  IMITATION    OF   KORNER'S  "  DAS  WARST  DU."       173 


IX. 

Ah !  life's  rough  billows  swell  for  ever, 

And  years  will  fly  as  years  have  flown, 
And  youth  fleets  on,  —  yet  never,  never, 
Can  time  or  distance  thee  dissever, 
Beloved,  from  thine  own. 

x. 

And  still  thy  form  in  light  arises, 

Like  trancing  music  round  me  thrown, 
And  though  the  voice  thyself  surprises, 
Thy  fond  love  breaks  through  all  disguises, 
And  whispers,  "  All  thine  own." 

Walton,  1844. 


ON   SEEING  A  LEAF   FALL   BY  MOON- 
LIGHT. 


Oh,  bright  was  the  hour  when  thou  wast  born, 
And  the  winds  sang  peace  to  the  blushing  morn 

Who  stepp'd  o'er  the  clouds  at  their  matin  call : 
But  ne'er  may  the  memory  of  days  gone  by 
Save  the  victim  of  death  when  his  hour  is  nigh  ; 
And  vain  was  the  warmth  of  thy  natal  sky ; 
The  moonlight  saw  thee  fall. 


ii. 

Thy  youth  it  was  spent  in  dance  and  glee, 
With  thy  leaflet  brothers  embowering  thee, 


ON    SEEING   A    LEAP   FALL    BY   MOONLIGHT.         175 

Happiness  trembling  o'er  one  and  all : 
But  the  loveliest  dreams  must  fade  away, 
And  our  comrades,  ah,  tell  me,  where  are  they  ? 
Links  are  broken  to-morrow,  though  twined  to-day ; 
The  moonlight  saw  thee  fall. 

hi. 
Thou  hast  stood  the  cloud  and  the  dashing  rain, 
Over  thee  the  chill  blast  hath  swept  in  vain, 

And  the  night  vainly  spread  her  funeral  pall : 
But  a  word  may  crush  when  the  heart  doth  ache, 
And  it  needs  not  then  a  storm  ere  it  break ; 
Thou  hast  stood  the  tempest,  when  strong  hearts  quake, 
But  the  moonlight  saw  thee  fall. 

Watton,  1844. 


FRAGMENTS. 

For  though  the  skirts  of  the  far  tempest  oft 

Have  fallen  on  my  path,  though  I  have  proved, 

At  times,  the  bitterness  of  grief,  —  yet,  when 

The  heart  is  all  alone  in  suffering, 

We  scarce  can  say  that  we  have  suffer'd ;  —  all 

Seems  centred  so  within  us,  and  the  waves 

Swell  in  so  narrow  and  so  small  a  world, 

That  what  hath  moved  us  scarce  can  ask  the  name 

Of  suffering. 


Sunny  hath  been  my  home  of  childhood  —  strong 
The  links  of  love  that  bind  our  happy  circle,  — 
No  jarring  note  hath  broken  the  sweet  stream 
Of  music  that  hath  linger'd,  like  the  dove 


FRAGMENTS.  177 

Of  peace,  among  us  :  —  father,  mother,  children  — 
"  Hearts  of  each  other  sure,"  souls  knit  as  one  — 
All  wending  in  glad  fellowship  towards  heaven. 
Heaven  is  our  bourne,  and  its  far  hope  hath  lighted 
Upon  our  ocean-pathway,  beacon-like, 
And  caught  the  summits  of  the  smallest  waves 
That  rise  and  sink  around  us,  telling  still 
Each  bears  us  onward  on  its  tremulous  breast 
To  the  still  haven  of  eternal  love. 
Sometimes  the  distant  clouds  have  threaten'd  woe, 
Their  shadow  fallen  near  us,  but  when  we 
Were  striving  to  win  over  our  sad  hearts, 
Unmurmuring  to  resign  what  Heaven  hath  given, 
Perchance  some  floweret  from  our  wreath  of  love, 
Some  emerald  dew-drop  from  a  cup  o'erflowing,  — 
Then  hath  our  God,  our  Father,  with  a  smile 
That  told  how  He  rejoiced  in  all  our  joy, 
Return'd  it  to  us  lovelier,  more  beloved, 
Because,  for  one  sad  voiceless  moment,  fear 
Had  chill'd  our  hearts  lest  it  should  fade  or  fall. 

Walton,  1844. 


8* 


LINES   ON  A   SUFFERING   SISTER. 

I. 

•'if  needs  be." 

I. 
Suffering  for  thee,  sweet  sister  —  and  sharp  pain- 

For  thee,  the  gentlest  of  earth's  gentle  ones  ? 
Does  the  cloud  gather  o'er  thy  heart  and  brain 

So  darkly,  and  yet  no  repining  tones  ? 
Oh,  hush !  my  own  sad  heart,  thy  faithless  fears, 
And  quell  or  dry  thy  quick,  rebellious  tears. 

ii. 
She,  as  a  babe  upon  a  mother's  breast, 

A  child  within  a  father's  sheltering  arms, 
Unconsciously  is  lying ;  —  the  unrest, 

Brother,  is  thine  —  thine  all  those  rude  alarms. 
Still  thy  heart's  beatings  where  she  hers  hath  still'd, 
Relieving  all  is  best  that  He  hath  will'd. 


LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER.  179 

III. 

Yet  was  our  home  so  bright,  so  passing  fair, 
Some  faint,  dim  semblance  of  a  home  above  ; 

And  she  the  tenderest  loveliest  angel  there, 

Around  whom  cluster'd  all  our  dreams  of  love : 

We  thought  that  grief  might  never  shadow  long 

What  seem'd  the  fittest  haunt  for  praise  and  song. 

IV. 

And  was  it  but  a  dream  ?  and  has  the  cloud 
Once  and  again  pass'd  by  us,  threatening  woe 

And  shedding  tears  ?  and  has  its  darkness  bow'd 
Our  hearts  once  more  in  struggling  sorrow  low  ? 

And  has  the  sunshine  of  affection's  mirth 

Pass'd  ever,  sleep-like,  from  this  beautiful  earth  ? 

v. 

Nay,  check  your  tears,  sad  sisters,  pause  and  linger, 
And  check,  sad  brother,  thy  wild  wayward  words ; 

Grief  takes  thy  lyret  from  thee,  and  her  finger 

Sweeps  somewhat  rudely  o'er  the  trembling  chords. 

Ye  must  not,  when  beneath  the  cloud,  forget 

That  He,  whose  love  is  sunshine,  loves  ye  yet. 


180  LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER. 


VI. 


Methinks  I  hear  His  voice  of  pity  saying,  — 
"  Ye  clung  too  closely  to  your  lovely  home ; 

Your  sister's  spirit,  dear  children,  is  delaying, 
To  teach  ye  of  a  better  rest  to  come  : 

Where  grief  is  not  nor  sighing,  pain  nor  tears, 

But  ]ife,  light,  love,  for  everlasting  years." 


Walton,  1846. 


II. 

"HE    GIVETH   HIS    BELOVED    SLEEP." 


Oh,  tread  lightly  —  she  is  weary, 

She  hath  suffer'd  all  day  through, 
And  the  night  is  somewhat  dreary 

If  she  wake  and  suffer  too : 
Silently  the  stars  are  keeping 

Their  sweet  vigils  o'er  her, 
And  she  dreams  not  in  her  sleeping 

That  to-morrow  is  before  her. 


LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER.  181 

II. 

Break  it  not,  that  spell  of  slumber, 

Waveless,  beautiful  as  heaven, 
'Mid  the  sharp  gusts  without  number, 

And  the  clouds,  of  tempests  driven. 
Weep  not,  sister  ;  sister,  cheer  thee ; 

Yet  she  will  not  hear  thee  weep : 
She  is  weary,  very  weary, 

Only  let  her  sleep. 

in. 
I  could  fancy,  gazing  on  her, 

She  had  pass'd  her  night  of  sighs  ; 
And  that  heaven's  own  light  upon  her, 

Waits  to  greet  her  opening  eyes. 
Silence  on  each  word  of  sorrow, 

On  a  thought  that  would  repine ; 
For  there  shall  be  such  a  morrow, 

And  for  thee,  sweet  sister  mine. 

IV. 

Ah !  I  know  it,  that  reposing — 
'Tis  her  Father  bade  it  come  — 


182  LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER. 

Emblem,  when  life's  day  is  closing 
Of  the  deep  repose  of  home  ; 

Storms  the  joy  of  calm  redoubling 
In  the  mansions  of  the  blest ; 

Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
And  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Walton,  1847. 


III. 


"AND    SO    HE    BRINGETH    THEM    TO    THE    HAVEN    WHERE 


Yes,  billow  after  billow  —  see  they  come 
Faster  and  rougher,  as  her  little  boat 
Nears  evermore  the  haven.     Oftentimes 
It  seems  to  sink  and  fall  adown  the  wave, 
As  if  borne  backward  by  the  struggling  tide  : 
Yet  mounting  billow  after  billow,  wave 
On  wave  o'er-riding,  tempest-tost  and  shatter'd, 
Still,  still  it  nears  the  haven  evermore. 


LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER.  183 

"  Poor  mariner,  art  thou  not  sadly  weary  ?  " 

Dear  brother,  rest  is  sweeter  after  toil. 

"  Grows  not  thine  eye  confused  and  dim  with  sight 

Of  nothing  but  the  wintry  waters  ?  "     True, 

But  then  my  pole-star,  constant  and  serene, 

Above  the  changing  waters  changes  not. 

"  But  what  if  clouds,  as  often,  veil  the  sky  ?  " 

Oh,  then,  an  unseen  hand  hath  ever  ta'en 

The  rudder  from  my  feeble  hands  the  while  — 

And  I  cling  to  it.     "  Answer  me  once  more, 

Mariner,  what  think'st  thou  when  the  waters  bear 

Thy  frail  boat  backward  from  the  long'd-for  harbor  ?  " 

Oh,  brother,  though  innumerable  waves 

Still  seem  to  rise  betwixt  me  and  my  home  — 

Still  billow  after  billow,  wave  on  wave  — 

I  know  that  they  are  number'd :  not  one  less 

Should  bear  me  homeward  if  I  had  my  will ; 

For  One  who  knows  what  tempests  are  to  weather, 

O'er  whom  there  broke  the  wildest  billows  once, 

He  bids  these  waters  swell.     In  His  good  time 

The  last  rough  wave  shall  bear  me  on  its  bosom 

Into  the  haven  of  eternal  peace. 


184  LINES    ON    A    SUFFERING    SISTER. 

No  billows  after  —  they  are  number'd,  brother. 
"  Oh,  gentle  mariner,  steer  on,  steer  on : 
My  tears  shall  flow  for  thee,  but  they  are  tears 
In  which  faith  strives  with  grief,  and  overcomes. 

Watton,  1847. 


A  NIGHT  AT  SANDGATE. 

It  was  a  strange  and  fearful  night  that  same : 
We  had  been  talking  of  the  troublous  days 
That  seem'd  to  lie  before  us,  and  the  clouds 
Of  gloom  and  tempest  that  were  brooding  round 
The  militant  church  of  God :  wherein  we  thought 
Not  one  there  gather'd  would  pass  on  unscathed. 
And  yet  all  hearts  beat  high,  and  glistening  eyes 
Burnt  brightly  as  with  coming  triumph: — none 
Hung  back,  none  trembled,  none  were  sore  afraid. 
He,  whom  unknown  we  knew,  unseen  we  loved, 
Was  Pilot  of  our  vessel,  and  He  held 
At  beck  the  whirlwinds  and  the  storms  and  clouds ; 
And  He  seem'd  with  us,  saying, — "  Fear  ye  not, 
Lo !  I  am  with  you  alway  :  in  the  world 


186  A    NIGHT    AT    SAND  GATE. 

Ye  shall  have  tribulation  ;  let  your  hearts 

Be  of  good  cheer,  O  ye  of  little  faith, 

For  I,  your  Lord,  have  overcome  the  world." 

So  in  to  one  another's  eyes  we  look'd, 

And  found  there  —  sorrow  and  dismay  ?  nay,  found 

Such  high  enthusiast  hopes  as  burn,  like  stars 

'Mid  drifting  clouds,  the  brighter  at  near  view 

Of  sufferings  to  be  suffer'd  and  for  Him, 

Of  high  deeds  to  be  ventured  and  for  Him, 

Of  peril  clasping  our  affection  closer. 

Amid  that  company  were  two  who  long 

Had  held  bright  standards  in  the  warrior  host 

Of  God  —  brave  hearts  —  and  as  we  heard  them  tell 

Of  conflicts  deepening  ever  on  the  skirts 

Of  Christendom's  blood-sprinkled  battle-field, 

The  fire  and  light  of  love  spontaneous  rush'd 

From  heart  to  heart,  and  lit  their  altar-flame. 

The  evening  wore  away :  and  one  by  one 
At  length  we  parted  lingering  and  loath, 
For  golden  are  such  hours  and  brief  and  few : 
But  drawn,  as  I  divine,  by  kindred  thoughts, 


A   NIGHT    AT    SANDGATE.  187 

I  and  one  other  with  me  loiter'd  yet 

By  a  lone  staircase  window,  that  o'erlook'd 

The  deep  blue  billows  of  the  midnight  sea, 

And  the  swift  moonlight  on  those  waters  swift ; 

And  overhead  the  everlasting  stars. 

But  chief  three  planets  look'd  into  our  souls 

With  their  large  spirit-eyes.     Long  while  we  gazed 

In  silent  rapture  on  that  world  of  night, 

And  ponder'd  silently,  and  to  the  winds 

And  roar  of  distant  waters  listen'd  long. 

It  seem'd  a  picture  of  the  dread  "  to  be." 

There  were  the  waters  in  their  ceaseless  changes 

And  wild  eternal  heavings,  white  with  spray, 

Wave  chasing  wave ;  but  over  them  the  moon 

Rode  in  her  silver  sphere  serene,  and  chid 

Their  wildness,  and  the  glancing  stars  aloft 

Fell  on  them  with  their  sudden  tears  of  light. 

A  strange  and  dream-like  scene.     Yes,  soon  we  spake ; 

The  same  thought  rush'd  upon  us  —  let  the  world 

Change  like  those  changing  waters  evermore, 

And  spend  itself  in  moans  or  reckless  smiles,  — 

Let  us  be  cast  upon  its  fretful  waves ; 


188  A    NIGHT    AT    SANDGATE. 

Still  stretches  o'er  us  the  blue  sky,  and  thence 
Lightens  the  piercing  glory  of  the  stars, 
The  silver  beauty  of  true  heart  affection. 

.  And  like  clear  village  bells  at  eventide 
Each  young  heart  echo'd  to  the  other  back, 
And  ere  we  parted  were  there  many  thoughts 
That  only  could  find  utterance  in  prayer. 


1845. 


ON  AN  AIR  OF   NOVELLO'S,— AVE   VERUM. 

Comes  it  to  thee  with  a  sound  of  joy, 

Glad-hearted  sister  mine  ? 
Like  the  reckless  bound  of  the  mountain  boy, 

Or  his  mirthsome  eye  divine  ? 

Oh,  list  again  —  it  has  sorrowful  deeps 

Thou  hast  not  fathom'd  yet ; 
'Tis  a  loving  passionate  heart  that  weeps 

Tears,  none  who  shed  forget. 


It  speaketh  of  life,  —  of  beautiful  life, 

A  tissue  strange  and  fair, 
Yet  enwoven  with  threads  of  tenderest  grief, 

And  dark  shades  here  and  there. 


190         ON    AN    AIR    OF   NOVELLO'S, AVE    VERUM. 

It  leads  the  soul  to  the  twilight  sky, 
And  the  stars  peep  forth  in  turn, 

But  a  weeping  train  of  clouds  is  by 
To  dim  them  as  they  burn. 

Speaks  it  of  hope  ?  yes,  hope  in  tears, 
From  some  far  distant  shore ; 

Music  that  steals  from  the  nightly  spheres, 
Yet  sounding,  sounds  no  more. 

Watton,  1845. 


UNDINE  IN  MUSIC. 

ON   THE   QUICK   MOVEMENT   OF     MOZART'S    SYMPHONY    IN 

E    FLAT. 

'Twas  the  twilight  dawn  at  break  of  day, 
And  the  mists  swept  over  the  mountains  gray. 
Away,  away,  on  thin  blue  wings, 
They  flitted  across  like  living  things, 

Reckless  wanderers  they. 
Is  there  a  path  on  those  towers  of  air  ?  — 
'Mid  ice  and  cloud  a  pathway  there  ? 
Wild  are  the  rocks  and  interwoven, 
But  betwixt  them  a  path  is  dimly  cloven. 
Ha !  see'st  thou  aught  ?  —  'tis  a  waving  plume, 
And  a  spear  that  glances  like  light  through  gloom. 
'Tis  a  dashing  steed  of  taintless  white : 
'Tis  a  rider's  cry  —  an  armed  knight. 
Now  high  on  the  crag ;  now  deep  in  the  mist, 


192  UNDINE    IN    MUSIC. 

That  at  fits  the  plume  of  his  helmet  kiss'd : 

As  when  a  light-wing'd  bark  doth  ride 

At  random  o'er  the  foaming  tide : 

Now  perch'd  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  wave, 

Daring  the  stars  for  very  glee ; 
Now  hid  half-way  in  the  arching  cave 

Of  the  glad  exultant  sea. 
Like  to  the  waves  are  the  wild  crags  strown, 
Like  to  the  bark  doth  the  knight  ride  on. 


Is  he  in  chase  of  the  tumbling  rills  ? 
What  seeketh  he  on  the  far-off  hills  ? 
There  are  waves  of  a  rivulet  there  that  stray 

At  morning  o'er  the  mountains  blue ; 
But  when  the  sun  rides  high,  men  say, 

It  melts  like  the  veriest  morning-dew. 
Perchance  he  hath  come  by  that  stream  to  ride 
He  reins  his  steed  by  a  glacier's  side. 
Was  it  music  ?  was  it  a  spell  ? 
What  on  the  horse  and  his  rider  fell  ? 
For,  lo !  by  the  side  of  a  silver  rill 
The  rider  and  his  horse  stood  still. 


UNDINE    IN    MUSIC.  193 

Tis  nought  but  the  sound  of  gushing  waves 

Like  crystal  music  in  hidden  caves, 

Tinkling  so  soft  and  so  clear  around, 

An  angel's  whisper,  a  spirit-sound : 

Yet  it  woke  the  dreams  of  by-gone  years, 

And  won  from  out  his  eyes  the  tears : 

For  in  fitful  beauty  all  unabiding 

Were  the  scenes  of  his  childhood  before  him  gliding. 

The  spell  is  broken.     He  starts  away, 

The  wilder  now  for  the  brief  delay : 

Swift  hurries  the  steed,  as  one  might  list, 

Yet  he  lashes  him  on  through  storm  and  mist  — 

And  away  !  away !  with  might  and  main, 

A  playmate  of  the  clouds  again. 

He  curb'd  his  steed,  for  he  thought  he  spied 
A  maiden's  robe  at  his  right  side. 
Is  it  a  maiden  beside  him  lying, 
On  the  far  lone  mountains  in  silence  dying  ? 
Ah,  no,  sir  knight  —  'tis  the  trembling  rill, 
That  having  loved  thee,  loves  thee  still, 

9 


194  UNDINE   IN    MUSIC. 

And  follows  thee  ever  through  wind  and  cloud 

With  whispers  loving  but  not  loud. 

List !  rein  thy  steed  —  oh  !  listen  well, 

For  strange  is  the  music  of  that  soft  spell. 

"  Whither  away,  dear  knight,  so  fast  ? 

My  tale  is  not  told,  my  dream  is  not  pass'd : 

I  melt  not  away  till  nigh  mid-day : 

Gentle  knight,  whither  away  ?  " 

And  a  shrouded  form  of  silvery  mist 

Seem'd  to  float  and  blend  with  the  waves  she  kiss'd, 

That  whether  it  were  a  maiden's  dress 

Or  the  flow  of  the  streamlet,  none  might  guess. 

And  the  knight  stood  still. 

But  a  stormy  sound 
Echo'd  from  forth  the  caverns  round  — 
'Twas  the  spirit  of  the  mists  who  spake. 
"  No  moonlight  dreams,  Sir  Knight,  awake ! 
Away  to  the  reckless  chase  with  me ! 
I  came  not  in  vain  from  the  fetterless  sea. 
With  the  blast,  as  my  courser,  I'm  rushing  on  high 
To  join  in  the  sport  of  the  stormy  sky." 
And  the  knight  forgot  the  lovely  stream, 
Her  music  and  half-finish'd  dream. 


UNDINE    IN    MUSIC.  195 

And  while  clatter'd  the  hoofs  like  a  brazen  drum 
He  shouted  afar,  "  I  come  !  I  come  ! " 

To  him  the  streamlet  spake  not  on : 

Her  harp  strings  quiver'd  ;  their  tones  were  gone. 

But  to  the  little  waves  turn'd  she, 

And  thus  spake  on  right  cheerily. 

"  What  can  tame  the  spirit  proud 

Of  the  knight,  who  revels  in  storm  and  cloud  ? 

Nothing  but  tears  —  and  smiles  through  tears, 

And  music  too  sweet  for  mortal  ears. 

But  I  will  smile,  and  I  will  weep, 

And  my  silver  lyre  shall  wake  from  sleep. 

Flow,  sisters,  flow  in  our  tuneful  stream, 

My  tale  must  be  told,  and  finish'd  my  dream. 

Flow  merrily,  sisters :  and  track  him  well. 

He  hears,  he  knows,  he  feels  my  spell." 

The  waves  flow'd  on  with  their  tuneful  sound ; 
They  cross'd  the  knight  in  his  maddest  bound ; 
And,  like  one  who  sees  a  spirit-form, 
He  check'd  his  course  through  the  cloudy  storm : 


196  UNDINE    IN    MUSIC. 

And  bow'd  his  head,  and  listens  still, 
Tranced  with  the  music  of  the  rill.  — 
And  long  together  side  by  side 
The  waves  did  flow,  the  knight  did  ride ; 
Till  the  spirit  of  the  streamlet  stole 
The  heart  from  out  his  inmost  soul. 

Oh !  stay  the  hours  :  the  sun  rides  high : 
The  tale  is  told,  and  the  stream  must  die : 
The  last  few  notes,  the  sweetest  far, 
Like  a  trembling  voice  from  a  nightly  star, 
Rich  as  the  tones  of  a  dying  swan, 
The  last  few  silvery  notes  are  gone. 

Watton,  1844. 


TEARS   IN  MUSIC. 

ON    THE    SLOW    MOVEMENT    OF    MOZART'S    SYMPHONY    IN 

E    FLAT. 


Oh,  hush !  my  soul,  be  silent, 
For  the  chords  sweep  on  again ; 

Though  it  take  thy  heart  from  out  thee, 
Still  listen  to  the  strain. 


II. 

It  flows  along,  like  waters, 

To  a  tuneful  "dying  fall," 
And  tells  of  griefs,  and  tears,  and  love 

That  smiles  amid  them  all. 


198  TEARS    IN   MUSIC. 

III. 

In  deep  waves  of  affection 
Flows  on  the  mournful  river, 

Persuasively,  persuasively, 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

IV 

Methinks  a  sad  beloved  one 

Is  by  her  lover  kneeling, 
And  blent  with  their  own  echoes  still 

Her  tender  strains  are  stealing. 

v. 

With  her  soft  blue  eye  she  asketh 

The  secret  of  his  woe, 
For  a  burning  grief  hath  seal'd  his  heart 

And  his  tears  will  not  flow. 

VI. 

She  asketh  with  the  music 

That  tells  of  things  that  were ; 

She  asks  to  grieve,  for  grief  with  him 
Were  a  solace  unto  her. 


TEARS    IN    MUSIC.  199 

VII. 

Like  clouds  a  bright  star  circling, 

Like  soft  winds  round  a  rose, 
Like  waters  round  a  lily's  brim, 

That  wondrous  music  flows. 

VIII. 

Ah,  woe  for  that  sweet  singer ! 

Woe  for  that  loving  heart ! 
Her  pulse  beats  quick,  her  words  fall  fast ; 

But  he  turns  unmoved  to  part. 

IX. 

One  lingering  note  recalls  him ; 

Thus,  thus,  he  cannot  sever : 
And  on  and  on  persuasively 

The  music  flows  for  ever. 


Persuasively,  persuasively, 

She  ever  seems  to  plead, 
That  he  would  pour  his  grief  to  her 

The  saddest,  grief  could  need. 


200  TEARS    IN    MUSIC. 

XI. 

Her  soft  blue  eye  is  filling 
With  tears  for  his  and  him, 

And  her  low  sad  strain  swept  on  again, 
Until  his  own  were  dim. 

XII. 

Enough,  enough  —  he  weepeth, 
His  heart  no  more  is  cold, 

And  tears  can  tell  a  passionate  world 
That  in  language  is  untold. 

XIII. 

Refreshingly  as  breezes 
Blow  o'er  the  sultry  sands, 

Refreshingly  as  gushing  showers 
Rain  life  on  thirsty  lands ; 

XIV. 

Delicious  as  when  sunshine 
Streams  o'er  a  wintry  sky, 

Delicious  as  the  soft  air's  breath 
When  the  thunder  hath  pass'd  by ; 


TEARS    IN    MUSIC.  201 

XV. 

In  trustful  calm  affection, 

Like  some  smooth  southern  river, 
Persuasively,  resistlessly, 

The  music  flows  for  ever. 

XVI. 

But  it  takes  the  heart  from  out  me, 

That  deep  confiding  strain, 
And  I  must  beguile  a  little  while 

Till  it  come  back  again. 


Walton,  1844. 


9* 


ODE   ON  THE    THIRD    CENTENARY   OF   THE 

ANNUAL   COMMEMORATION   IN 

TRINITY   COLLEGE. 

How  sweep  they  by  so  fast, 
Those  chariot-wheels  of  Time ! 
On,  onward,  swifter  than  the  wintry  blast 
Athwart  a  wintry  clime : 
On,  on  —  another  hundred  years 
Pass'd,  like  a  dream  o'  the  night. 
There  is  no  space  for  mirth,  no  time  for  tears, 

The  swift  hours  sleep  not  in  their  flight, 
The  rivers  pause  not,  and  the  mighty  spheres 
Still  track  their  course  of  everlasting  light. 
Yet  touch  thy  harp-strings,  minstrel :  let  the  throng 
Sweep  heedlessly  along : 


ODE  ON  THE  THIRD  CENTENARY,  ETC.     203 

Pause,  and  with  thoughtful  spirits  cast  thine  eye 
Across  the  mighty  regions  left  behind ; 
For  spots  lie  there  eternally  enshrined, 
And  hours  that  will  not  die. 

Another  hundred  years, 
From  yonder  sacred  pile ; 
The  chime  this  day  hath  fallen  on  our  ears 

To  bid  us  gather  in  that  holy  aisle, 
Where  once  our  fathers  gather'd  :  they  have  gone 

To  their  long  home  :  and  we,  a  little  while, 
Forth  issuing  from  the  cloud,  speed  on 
Across  the  narrow  twilight  bridge,  that  lies 
Betwixt  two  vast  eternities, 
Then  hasten  underneath 
The  second  cloud  of  death, 
That  skirts  the  confines  where  our  fathers  are, 
A  land  that  is  so  nigh,  and  seems  so  far. 
They  must  not  pass  without  a  tear  away, 

We  must  not  live  without  deep  thoughts  of  them ; 
The  mists  are  transient  as  the  summer  day, 
But  stars  live  on  in  Heaven's  great  diadem. 


204  ODE    ON    THE    THIRD    CENTENARY    OF   THE 

Thrice  have  a  hundred  years  pass'd  by 
These  sacred  walls,  deepens  the  echoing  cry. 
And  countless  visions  sweep 
O'er  fancy's  startled  sleep, 
Of  fields  of  glory,  wreaths  of  fame, 
And  victories  won  on  stormy  seas, 
And  many  a  warrior's  spotless  name  — 
Ay,  nobler  deeds  than  these. 
Heroes,  who  fought,  but  for  no  earthly  crown ; 
Who  fell,  but  ask'd  of  mortals  no  renown ; 
Who  dared  to  combat  for  their  country's  God, 
And  for  their  God  and  country  dared  to  die : 
Their  blood  sank  deep  into  the  country's  sod, 
Who  weeps  too  late  their  martyr'd  memory. 
And  still  is  seen  the  holy  mien 
Of  England's  great  free-hearted  Queen ; 
And  still  is  heard  the  waves'  exuberant  roar 
Casting  the  Armada's  wrecks  in  sport  upon  the  shore. 

How  sweep  they  by  so  fast, 
Those  chariot-wheels  of  Time ! 
The  echoes  of  the  centuries  are  pass'd, 
Like  a  faint  vesper  chime. 


ANNUAL    COMMEMORATION    OF    TRINITY    COLLEGE.      205 

Yet  stormful  was  the  cry, 
And  loud  the  thunder  as  they  grated  by  : 
The  "crash  of  arms,  the  battle's  groan ; 
And  shattered  fell  the  sacred  monarch's  throne ; 
And  from  her  limbs  imprison'd  Freedom  tore 
Her  fetters  with  a  maniac's  rage  and  roar : 
Till  listening  to  the  voice  of  truth 
She  taught  her  proud  heart  gentler  rutli : 
Till  o'er  a  free-born  race  of  faithful  kings 
Heaven  waved  triumphantly  its  guardian  wings. 

The  scene  is  changed  once  more : 
Beneath  a  midnight  lamp  a  student  sits,1 
And  muses  oft  long  while,  or  reads  by  fits 
Pages  of  human  lore : 
Then  turns  his  ardent  reverent  look 
To  Nature's  greater,  nobler  book, 
Where  from  their  deep  blue  homes  on  high 
The  stars  greet  meekly  his  meek  eye, 
Interpreting  the  lines 
Of  those  mysterious  signs, 
All  dimly  traced  upon  the  awful  sky. 

1  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 


206  ODE    ON    THE    THIRD    CENTENARY    OF    THE 

New  visions  still  crowd  on,  and  memory  tells 
Of  glorious  deeds  of  old, 
And  many  a  patriot's  name, 
But  bound  by  mightier  spells 
We  see  them  glide  beneath  the  vaporous  fold 
Of  the  great  past,  nor  linger  o'er  their  fame: 
Though  oft,  in  evening's  twilight  dews, 

We  fondly  love  to  muse, 
That  whilome  those  high  sages'  feet 
Here  humbly  trode  this  still  retreat, 
And  learn'd  to  bend  a  childlike  ear 
To  the  low  voice  of  heavenly  wisdom  here. 

How  sweep  they  by  so  fast, 
Those  chariot-wheels  of  Time ! 
Leaving  so  brief  a  track  of  glories  past, 
And  hurrying  on  to  crime. 
Have  orphan'd  children  cried  ?  * 
Have  captive  daughters  pined  ? 
Have  groans,  ere  now,  been  cast  aside 
Unto  the  pitiless  wind  ? 

l  The  Revolution  of  1789. 


ANNUAL    COMMEMORATION    OF    TRINITY    COLLEGE.      207 

Have  dark  clouds  pass'd  on  the  stormy  blast  ? 

Darker  are  behind. 
They  gather'd  long,  they  lower'd  low ; 

All  men  trembling  stood : 
They  shed  a  few  first  drops  of  woe, 

At  length  they  burst  in  blood  ! 

On  smiling  France  at  first, 

On  guilty  France  they  burst, 
Her  sainted  monarch  fell,  her  princess  fled, 
Her  noblest,  best,  were  number'd  with  the  dead. 
In  dungeon  gloom  her  maidens'  bloom 

Was  counted  cheap  as  dust ; 
And  the  innocent  child  there  only  smiled 

In  its  young  unguarded  trust. 

Wealth,  beauty,  talent  died, 

And  the  rivers  ran  with  gore ; 
Thou  hast  drunk  the  blood  of  thy  choicest  pride, 

Proud  France  !  —  and  wilt  have  more  ? 
The  tempest  hath  not  pass'd :  the  clouds  of  wrath 
Sweep  on  enfolding  in  their  awful  gloom 
All  lands,  Despair  before  their  path ; 
Behind,  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 


208     ODE  ON  THE  THIRD  CENTENARY  OF  THE 

I  see  them  form ;  I  see  them  rise  ; 

Fainter  grows  the  light ; 
Till  they  enshroud  the  glorious  skies, 
And  liken  day  to  night. 
And  beneath  are  the  dusty  plains  of  war, 
The  steed,  and  the  warrior's  brazen  car, 
The  lightning  sword,  and  the  cannon's  shock, 
And  the  rifle's  rattle  on  rifted  rock. 
And  ever  and  anon 
A  lull  in  the  storm  steals  on ; 
We  listen  —  it  is  gone. 
See  yonder  man  with  the  eagle-eye, 
And  the  soul  that  dares  to  do  or  die ! 
And  his  armies  sweep  from  sea  to  sea, 
And  he  tramples  the  proud,  and  enchains  the  free, 
Till  the  earth  at  his  fury  stood  aghast, 
And  the  nations  shook  at  his  tread  as  he  pass'd. 
Desolate  —  desolate  —  the  wild  flood 
Hath  torn  from  the  forest  branch  and  leaf: 
And  Europe  is  weeping  tears  of  blood :  — 
He  sheds  no  tear  of  grief. 
But  there  is  love  in  heaven  :  and  angels  weep 
If  men  forbear  o'er  human  sufferings : 


ANNUAL    COMMEMORATION    OF   TRINITY   COLLEGE.      209 

And  freedom's  cry,  awaking  from  her  sleep, 

In  the  proud  conqueror's  ear  a  death-knell  rings. 
He  fell :  and,  moated  by  the  chafing  waves, 
For  whom  all  earth  had  seem'd  too  small  a  throne, 
For  whom  unnumber'd  myraids  had  sunk  down 

Into  untimely  graves, 
Slept  in  his  narrow  bed  full  tranquilly 
Long  silent  years  beneath  the  willow-tree. 

Touch,  minstrel,  touch  thy  lyre  again 

To  livelier  music,  for  thy  lay 
Hath  been  in  somewhat  mournful  solemn  strain 

For  a  bright  festal  day. 
What  if  the  world's  arena  hath  been  rife 
With  sounds  of  discord,  and  fell  deeds  of  strife,  — 
Here  they  have  been  as  echoes  faint  and  far  ; 

Here  glide  unruffled  on  the  silent  hours ; 
Peace  dwells  with  Wisdom ;  and  the  evening  star 

Shines  ever  cloudless  o'er  these  sacred  towers. 

What,  though  the  tempest  often  sweep 

Recklessly  o'er  the  billowy  deep, — 
This  quiet  crystal  fountain  hath  flow'd  on, 
Shelter'd  from  every  storm  that  raves  anon, 


210  ODE    ON   THE   THIRD    CENTENARY,   ETC. 

And  sent  its  copious  floods 
To  gladden  and  renew  on  every  hand 
The  valleys,  and  the  wild  banks,  and  the  woods 

Of  our  great  Fatherland. 

And  might  I  twine  one  parting  wreath  for  thee, 
Dear  college  home,  by  thousand  memories  dear, 
Ere  I  forsake  thy  tranquil  shores,  and  steer 

To  the  bleak  pathways  of  the  trackless  sea  ? 

'Twere  only  adding  to  the  debt  I  owe 
Of  thanks,  and  gratitude,  and  filial  love  ; 

And  faint  my  strains,  and  feeble  were,  and  low, 
To  tell  thy  worth,  all  praise  of  mine  above. 

Nay,  rather,  grateful  prayers  shall  rise,  that  He, 
Beneath  whose  favoring  smile 

Thou  art  the  glory  of  our  native  isle, 

May  ever  shield,  and  guard,  and  prosper  thee. 
Ours  only  be  the  joy  to  know, 
When  in  the  world  tost  to  and  fro, 

We  once  were  shelter'd  underneath  thy  walls, 

O  fairest,  noblest,  best  of  Granta's  glorious  halls. 

Trinity  College,  1846. 


SONNET. 

There's  music  on  the  winds :  and  far  aloft 
It  sinks  and  rises  as  they  rise  and  sink. 
And  evermore,  like  waters  from  the  brink 
Of  over-joyful  springs,  in  tones  most  soft 
And  most  melodious,  came  quick  bursts  of  song, 
Like  harpers  harping  on  their  harps  ;  and  oft 
They  fill'd  my  soul  with  worship ;  till  amoug 
The  caverns  of  the  clouds  they  seem'd  to  lose 
The  magic  of  their  music :  none  might  choose 
But  hear :  the  fount  was  rapture ;  and  to  drink, 
A  joy  past  utterance :  and  the  morning  dews 
Chased  mist-like  the  blue  ocean  waves  along, 
Till  clouds,  winds,  waters,  music-built  did  seem, 
The  shadows  of  an  everlasting  dream. 


NOT  LUCK,   BUT  LOVE. 

ON   HEARING   ANOTHER    SPEAK    OF   LUCK. 

Not  luck  :  though  drifting  to  and  fro 
Chances  and  changes  come  and  go  ; 
Though  joys  are  broken  lights  empearl'd 
On  wild  waves  of  this  troublous  world  ; 
Though  unsuspected  griefs  and  woes 
Rise,  ere  a  whisper  whence  they  rose ; 
Though  oft  the  crystal  morning-light 
Is  dark  with  tempest  long  ere  night ; 
Though  smiles  and  tears  are  driven  away; 
Like  sun  and  cloud  some  April  day  ; 
Though  hopes  elate,  or  fears  appall,  — 
Not  luck,  but  Love  is  over  all. 
1870. 


"LORD,   SAVE   ME." 

"  A  ruin'd  sinner,  lost,  undone,  —  Lord  Jesu,  hear  my  cry : 

The  brand  of  guilt  is  on  my  soul ;  Lord,  save  me,  or  I 
die." 

"  I  will,  thou  wreck'd  and  ruin'd  one :  before  thee,  lo,  I 
stand; 

Upon  my  bosom  throw  thyself,  and  grasp  my  pierced 
hand. 

I  will  not  spurn  thee  from  my  side  for  all  thy  rags  and 
chains, 

I  love  thee ;  —  come  to  me,  and  wash  thy  dark  and  crim- 
son stains." 

"  Ten  thousand  talents,  Lord,  I  owe,  —  nothing  have  I  to 

pay; 

I  dare  not  come,  whose  nakedness  would  shame  the  light 
of  day." 


214  "lord,  save  me." 

"  Come  unto  me,  thou  bankrupt  soul ;  why  dost  thou  linger 

yet? 

With  my  own  life-blood  I  have  paid  the  last  mite  of  thy 

debt. 
My  wealth,  my  goodness,  give  I  thee,  and,  for  thy  royal 

dress, 
Will  clothe  thee  with  a  seamless  robe,  my  perfect  right- 


"I  fain  would  come,  I  fain  would  pray,  my  tears  alone 

must  speak ; 
I  come;  —  yet  seems  my  strengthless  heart  too  wayward 

and  too  weak." 
"  I  come  to  thee,  come  thou  to  me,  thou  weary  one,  and 

rest; 
And  my   meek   Spirit   shall   abide  within   thy   troubled 

breast 
His  life  and  love,  His  power  and  peace,  His  majesty  and 

might, 
Are  with  thee  ;  listen  to  His  voice ;  He  speaks,  and  there 

is  light." 

"  I  come,  He  draws  me ;  I  am  thine,  Lord  Jesu,  Thou  art 
mine. 


215 

I  ask  no  more,  if  only  thus  upon  me  Thou  wilt  shine." 
"  My  Father  loves  thee,  and  I  love ;  my  Spirit  dwells  in 

thee: 
Herein  is  life,  and  joy,  and  heaven,  and  immortality. 
But  haply  clouds  will  come,  and  hide  thy  Saviour  from 

thine  eyes ; 
Say,  wilt  thou   love  me  on  beneath  those  future  wintry 

skies?" 

u  I  only  cast  me  on  Thee,  Lord ;    I  love  Thee,  though 

unseen ; 
But  when    shall    this   dividing  veil  be  raised  that  hangs 

between  ?  " 
•  Press  onward,  ransom'd  one,  press  on  to  that  celestial 

realm : 
The  voyage  may  be  rough  and  long,  but  I  am  at  the  helm  : 
The  wilderness  is  void  and  vast ;   but,  see,  I  go  before 

thee: 
The  battle  may  be  fierce ;  but  I  lead  on  before  to  glory." 

"  And  shall  I  never  leave  Thy  side  upon  that  blissful  shore. 
But  see  Thee  in  Thy  glorious  home,  and  love  Thee  ever- 
more ?  " 


216 


"LORD,  save  me." 


"  For   ever  —  thou   shalt  share  my  throne,  my  Father's 

face  behold, 
And  swell  the  rapturous  melodies  of  thousand  harps  of 

gold; 
Fear  not,  for  I  will  greet  thee  with  my  well-reinember'd 

smile: 
Press  on,  be  faithful  unto  death — 'tis  but  a  little  while." 

Einton  Martett,  1853. 


THE   WORLD'S   PEACE,   AND   CHRIST'S. 

TWO    REAL    INCIDENTS. 

"  Peace  I  leave  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you ;  not  as  the 
world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you.  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
neither  let  it  be  afraid." — John  xiv.  *J7. 

A  cloudless  sky  —  a  laughing  summer  day  — 

A  river  gliding  noiselessly  and  deep  — 
Moor'd  by  whose  brink  a  little  shallop  lay ; 

Within,  two  weary  travellers  asleep. 

Ha !  the  boat  loosens,  and  begins  to  sweep 
With  those  strong  waters  to  their  headlong  fall : 

The  slumberers  waken  not,  nor  cry,  nor  weep ; 
It  strikes  — they  start  astonied  —  one  wild  call, 
One  struggle,  and  the  tide  rolls  onward  burying  all. 


10 


218 


THE    WORLDS    PEACE,   AND    CHRIST'S. 


A  wintry  ocean  —  a  dark,  rock-bound  coast, 

And  breakers  whitening  near  —  a  shatter'd  sail  — 

A  vessel  battling  onward,  tempest-toss'd : 

Aboard,  —  quick,  hurrying  footsteps,  and  the  wail 
Of  women,  and  brave  men  in  silence  pale. 

One  only,  with  a  calm,  untroubled  eye, 

Watch'd  the  wild  waters  and  the  wilder  gale  — 

The  pilot's  playful  child ;  and,  question'd  why, 
*  My  father's  at  the  helm,"  was  her  untaught  reply. 

Hinton  Martell,  1853. 


THE  THEESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN. 


THE   BABE'S    FIRST   JOURNEY. 

[Baby  sleeps  while  the  angel  soars  heavetiward,  singing.] 

"  My  treasure,  my  blossom, 

My  blessing  twice  bless'd, 
Folded  close  to  my  bosom, 

Be  still  and  at  rest. 
-  Winds  and  waters  were  rougher 

Than  wonted  at  last, 
But  no  more  shalt  thou  suffer, 

No  more  —  it  is  pass'd. 
Not  a  sigh,  not  a  sorrow 

Shall  grieve  thee  to-night, 
And  the  dawn  of  to-morrow 

Is  cloudless  delight." 


220      THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN. 

[Baby,  half -waking,  half -sleeping,  lisps  its  first  words  in  the  language 
of  heaven. ,] 

"  O  mother,  dear  mother, 

Who  is  this  ?  where  am  I  ?  " 

[  The  angel  continues  singhig.] 

"  Thy  guardian,  thy  brother  : 

Fear  not,  I  am  nigh. 
See  the  star-lamps  adorning 

This  beautiful  dome ; 
See  the  smile  of  the  morning ; 

I  am  bearing  thee  home. 
Mansions  there  without  number 

For  infants  are  built ; 
Awake  from  thy  slumber, 

Awake,  if  thou  wilt." 

[Baby  catches  the  first  glimpse  of  heaven,  and  asks,  — ] 

"  Oh,  what  is  that  glory 
That  shines  on  thy  wings  ? 

Brother,  tell  me  a  story 
Of  heavenly  things." 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN.      221 

[The  angel  sings  on.] 

"  There  joy  without  measure, 

There  day  without  night, 
And  rivers  of  pleasure 

Shall  break  on  thy  sight. 
There  are  gold  paths  transparent 

And  gateways  of  pearl ; 
There  the  babe  and  the  parent, 

The  boy  and  the  girl, 
With  angels,  are  walking 

And  plucking  the  fruit, 
And  singing  or  talking 

To  sound  of  the  lute. 
No  shadows  can  darken 

Their  blessed  employ : 
Hush,  baby,  and  hearken 

The  sound  of  their  joy. 
See,  the  Lord  of  the  garden 

Our  coming  awaits." 

So  the  babe  and  its  warden 
Pass'd  in  at  the  gates, 


222      THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN. 

And  stronger  and  stronger 

The  glory  became ; 
And  I  saw  them  no  longer : 

I  woke  from  my  dream. 

1864. 


II. 

THE    CHILD'S    HOME-CALL. 


A  FACT. 


"  And  was  carried  by  the  angels  into  Abraham's  bosom." 
Luke  xvi.  22. 

My  eyes  are  very  dim,  mother, 
I  cannot  see  you  right ; 
Sit  near,  and  read  my  favorite  hymn, 
For  I  shall  die  to-night. 

"  Jesus  who  lived,"  —  yes,  that,  mother, 
I  learn'd  it  on  your  knee ; 
Well  I  remember  where  you  sate, 
When  first  you  taught  it  me. 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN.  223 

Oh,  yes,  read  on  and  on,  mother, 
The  words  that  Jesus  said : 
And  think,  long  after  I  am  gone, 
He  bore  our  sins  instead. 

Is  the  rush-candle  out,  mother  ? 
For  all  is  midnight  dark  ; 
Oh,  take  my  hand  —  I  will  not  doubt : 
See,  mother  —  mother,  hark  ! 

Oh,  bright  and  blessed  things,  mother, 
My  soul  it  is  that  sees ; 
Yet  feel  you  not  the  rush  of  wings 
Makes  musical  the  breeze  ? 

Kind  faces  throng  the  room,  mother, 
And  gentle  loving  eyes  : 
Do  you  not  hear,  "  Come,  sister,  come," 
My  welcome  to  the  skies  ? 

Is  this  the  happy  land,  mother  ? 
My  heart  is  almost  still.  — 
The  childless  mother  felt  her  hand 
All  in  a  moment  chill. 


Banningham,  1851. 


224      THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN. 


III. 


TRANSLATED,   NOT    CONFIRMED. 

TO    ONE    WHO    WITH    ME   WATCHED     THE    PASTING     HOURS    OP      A 
CANDIDATE     FOR     CONFIRMATION. 


Together  we  leant 
O'er  her  fragile  form, 

As  her  head  she  bent 
To  the  long  last  storm. 

There  was  nothing  of  fear 
In  that  dying  room, 

For  Jesus  was  near 
And  chased  its  gloom. 

We  ask'd  if  she  felt 
His  presence  was  nigh, 

And  the  deep  answer  dwelt 
In  her  up-lighted  eye. 

"  Have  you  cast  on  His  cross 
The  weight  of  your  sin  ? 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN.      225 

Is  the  world  but  loss  ? 
Is  there  peace  within  ?  " 

On  the  calm  of  that  hour, 

Why  further  press, 
When  we  knew  the  power 

Of  her  gentle  "Yes"? 

She  is  gone  —  as  a  child 

On  its  mother's  breast; 
She  look'd  up,  and  smiled, 

And  sank  to  rest. 

The  waves  are  all  pass'd, 

The  word  has  been  given, 
Though  roughest  at  last, 

They  have  borne  her  to  heaven. 

But  "a  little  while," 

And  our  summons  will  come  — 

Oh,  then  with  her  smile 
To  ascend  to  her  home  ! 

Tunbridge   Wells,  1852. 

10* 


226  THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN. 


IV. 


THE    PENITENT'S    DEATH-BED. 


"  As  many  as  touched  the  hem  of  His  garment  were  made  perfectly 

whole." 

A  cold  and  wild  autumnal  sky :  the  sun  was  sinking  fast, 
And  bleakly  blew  o'er  wood  and  wold  the  wintry  northern 

blast ; 
The  chill  rain  fell  in  sudden  gusts,  still  drifting  on  and  on, 
The  day  had  pass'd  in  storms,  and  night  would  now  be  here 

anon. 
Aground  the  far  horizon's  skirts  despairing  roved  the  eye, 
When  lo !  a  rainbow-fragment  stamp'd  upon  that  stormy 

sky. 
Broken  and  quivering  it  lay,  one  little  fragment  given 
From  some  few  flickering  beams  of  light  far  in  the  western 

heaven : 
The  trembling  colors  came  and  went,  and  fainter,  brighter 

grew 
Amid  that  wild  untender  sky,  so  tender  and  so  true. 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN.      227 

I  just  had  left  the  dying-bed  of  one  who  once  had  been 
A  wanderer  from  the  Saviour's  fold  in  the  gloomy  paths  of 

sin  — 
A  wreck  of  sweetness  and  of  grace,  a  shade  of  beauty 

now, 
Though  Death  had  set  its  awful  seal  too  plainly  on  her 

brow. 
Oh,  surely  life  to  her  had  been  a  life  of  guilt  and  tears, 
Of   blighted   hopes  and  shatter'd  dreams,  and  storms  of 

guilty  fears  ! 
But,  on  a  sudden,  in  the  midst  of  youth   and  pleasure's 

prime, 
The  icy  blast  of   death  blew  keen  athwart  that  summer 

clime. 
The  world's  allurements  shrivell'd  then,  like  leaves  in  wind 

and  frost, 
And  all  its  lying  blandishments  their  sometime  glory  lost. 
Earth  trembled,  and  the  sky  was  gloom,  and  all  within 

was  wild, 
And  Death  full  quickly  now  would  claim  its  own  unhappy 

child. 
Stay,  list!  —  a  sudden  ray  from  heaven  gleam'd  in  upon 

her  cell : 


228      THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN. 

"  The  Saviour  "  —  eagerly  she  caught  the  accents  as  they 
fell  — 

"  The  Saviour  came  to  save  the  lost  —  Jesus  for  sinners 
died." 

"  For  sinners  ?  —  Oh,  the  worst  am  I  of  sinners,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"•  Then  cast  on  Him  thy  load  of  guilt  —  He  bids  thee  come 
and  live." 

"  I  cannot,  yet  I  would,"  she  cried ;  "  Lord,  hear  me,  Lord, 
forgive ! " 

It  was  not  peace,  it  was  not  light,  nor  was  it  all  despair, 
And  pointing  her  to  Jesus  still,  I  left  her  after  prayer. 
It  was  not  sunshine,  nor  the  joy  of  heaven's  own  glorious 

bow 
Yet  surely  one  true  little  gleam  of  mercy  amid  woe,  — 
One  fragmentary  rainbow-spot  that  might  grow  brighter 

yet, 

And  faintly  promised  better  things  before  the  sun  was  set. 
Banningham,  1848. 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN.  229 


IS    IT    WELL  t 

Never  man  spake  like  Him.     His  words  of  power 
Fell  like  the  healing  dews  of  heaven.     His  looks 
Breathed  love :  and  round  Him  eagerly  there  press'd 
The  sick  in  body  and  the  sick  at  heart. 
Some  clung  in  painful  anguish  to  His  hand ; 
Some  cast  themselves  before  His  sacred  feet ; 
Some  cried  aloud  for  mercy  ;  and  His  grace 
Was  free  to  all.     He  cast  out  none  who  came. 
But  some  there  were  of  timid  trembling  faith, 
Who  stole  behind  Him  in  the  press,  and  touch'd 
The  border  of  His  garment ;  and  there  went 
Such  virtue  from  Him,  all  who  touch'd  were  healM. 
The  feeblest  touch  was  life.     And  He  is  still 
Unchangeably,  eternally  the  same. 

Then  weep  not  for  thy  well-beloved,  nor  ask 
Mistrustful,  "  Is  it  well  with  him  I  mourn  ?  " 
Was  he  not  clinging  to  the  Saviour's  hand  ? 
Was  he  not  holding  to  the  Saviour's  feet  ? 


230  THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN. 

Was  he  not  hanging  on  the  Saviour's  grace  ? 
Is  love  still  anxious  ?     Laid  he  not  his  finger 
Upon  the  border  of  the  Saviour's  robe  ? 
That  trembling  touch  was  everlasting  life. 

1863. 


VI. 

THE    UNKNOWN    TO-MORROW. 

So  he  is  gone :  it  was  but  yesterday 

He  spent  in  piloting  his  cumbrous  car 

Through  crowds  of  men  and  tangled  thoroughfares 

Of  this  great  city.     Evening  came,  and  night ; 

And  having  done  his  duty  he  return'd, 

Worn  out  and  weary,  to  his  quiet  home. 

There  the  sweet  love  of  wife,  a  daughter's  care, 

The  soft  low  breath  of  younger  children,  sleeping, 

And  thoughts,  that  wander'd  to  his  absent  boy, 

Refresh'd  him.     On  his  knees  he  sank  in  prayer, 

Short,  earnest,  true,  —  and  laid  him  down  to  rest. 

It  was  his  last  day's  work.     Where  is  he  now  ? 
Where  is  he  ?     Suddenly  the  message  came ; 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN.  231 

And  angels  bare  him  on  their  wings  of  love 
Into  his  Saviour's  presence.     No  more  toil ; 
No  more  the  din  and  discord  of  the  world ; 
No  more  the  weary  warfare  of  the  heart. 
He  sleeps  in  Jesus :  on  his  head  a  crown 
Of  glory ;  in  his  hand  a  harp  of  praise ; 
And  music  of  the  blessed  spirits,  who  walk 
The  golden  streets,  about  him  echoing  joy 
And  welcoming  another  traveller  home. 


1863. 


VII. 

THE    THREE    BIRTHDAYS. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  ONE  WHO,  IN  BLINDNESS  AND  SUFFERING, 
BUT  IN  THE  FULL  ASSURANCE  OF  FAITH,  SAID,  A  FEW 
HOURS  BEFORE  HER  DEATH,  THAT  SHE  HAD  ALWAYS  HEARD 
THAT  THREE  BIRTHDAYS  WERE  OURS:  —  OUR  NATURAL  BIRTH- 
DAY, OUR  SPIRITUAL  BIRTHDAY,  AND  OUR  BIRTHDAY  INTO 
GLORY!  AND  THAT  SHE  WAS  SURE  THE  LAST  WAS  THE 
BRIGHTEST     AND     THE     BEST. 

Joy  for  thee,  new-born  child  of  heaven !    once  there  was 

joy  on  earth, 
What  time  from  eager  lip  to  lip  ran  tidings  of  thy  birth, 


232  THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THINGS    UNSEEN. 

And  glad  hearts  beat  more  gladly,  and  quick  steps  more 

quickly  trod 
To  tell  that  home  was  richer  with  another  gift  from  God. 

Years  fleeted  by ;  until  beneath  the  brooding  of  the  Dove, 

Thy  heart  was  warm'd  and  waken'd  to  the  voice  of  heav- 
enly love ; 

Then  deeper  waves  of  joy  across  their  golden  harp-strings 
stole, 

As  angels  sang  before  the  throne  the  birthday  of  thy  soul. 

Years  fleeted  by  ;    and  still  thy  path  grew  brighter  and 

more  bright, 
And  stars  from  daylight  hidden,  gemm'd  the  clear  sky  of 

thy  night. 
Thy  spirit  drank  of  rivulets,  that  never  could  run  dry ; 
And  suffering  never  seem'd  to  cloud  the  summer  of  thy 

sky. 

And  all  who  knew  thee,  loved  thee ;  and  they  loved  thee 

most  of  all, 
Who  mark'd  thy  patient  waiting  For  thy  Master's  long'd- 

for  call : 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THINGS  UNSEEN.      233 

It  came,  at  last,  that  joy  of  joys,  the  latest  and  the  best, 
The  birthday  of  a  child  of  heaven,  —  the  dawn  of  perfect 
rest. 

Dear  sainted  sister,  we  rejoice,  the  more  we  weep  our  loss ; 
And  while  we  think  upon  thy  crown,  more  humbly  bear  our 

cross. 
For  in  our  heart  of  hearts  is  heard  the  calm  prophetic 

warning, 
The  bridal  of  the  Church  is  near,  her  glory's  natal  morning. 


1861. 


DEATH  AND   VICTORY. 

Thou  speakest  of  the  fear  of  death,  its  ghastliness  and 
gloom, 

And  dreary  shadows  flung  across  the  portals  of  the  tomb ; 

Thou  sayest  that  the  best  of  men  must  tremble  like  the 
grass, 

When  from  the  loved  and  lovely  earth  to  unknown  worlds 
they  pass : 

Thou  picturest  the  love  of  home,  the  light  of  childhood's 
sky, 

And  askest,  Who  could  leave  such  things  with  no  heart- 
breaking sigh  ? 

My  heart  was  pain'd ;    and  oft  I  thought,  Can  this  be  true 

of  those 
Who  have  on  Jesus  cast  the  guilt  and  burden  of  their 

woes  ?  — 


DEATH   AND    VICTORY.  235 

Till,  as  I  mused,  the  truths  of  God,  like  beacon-fires  at 

night, 
Gleam'd  forth  from  Scripture's  vivid  page  upon  my  aching 

sight :  — 
"  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives ;  and,  though  my  flesh 

must  die, 
By  dying  He  shall  swallow  up  the  grave  in  victory. 
Ay,  in  the  shadowy  vale  of  death  no  evil  will  I  fear, 
For  Thou  art  with  me,  Thou,  my  God,  to  animate  and 

cheer." 

So  sang  the  patriarchs  of  old,  before  the  veil  was  riven. 
Which  from  the  pilgrim   fathers   hid   the   open  gate  of 

heaven  : 
But  hark,  what  clearer   tidings  now  our  songs  of  triumph 

swell ! 
"  Christ  Jesus  hath  abolish'd  death,  and  holds  the  keys  of 

hell; 
He  lives,  and  whoso  trusts  in  Him  shall  never,  never  die ; 
He  lives,  —  this  mortal  shall  be  clothed  with  immortality. 
The  portals  of  the  tomb  are  burst ;  ye  ransom'd  captives, 

sing, 
Where  is  thy  victory,  O  Grave  ?  where,  darksome  Death, 

thy  sting?" 


236  DEATH    AND    VICTORY. 

No  wild  dreams  these,  —  I  speak  of  things  that  oftentimes 

have  been ; 
Of  parting  words  that  I  have  heard,  and  death-beds  I  have 

seen; 
Of  a  long-loved  father,  circled  by  his  children  and  his  wife, 
With  every  joy  to  gladden  earth,  and  bind  him  unto  life, 
Who  calmly  said,  "  My  children  must  not  stay  me  from  my 

rest; 
My  work  is  finish'd,  and  I  long  to  sleep  on  Jesus'  breast ; 
Death  cannot  part  me  from  His  love  —  Lord  Jesu,  it  is 

Thou  — 
I  have  no  fear,  my  children  ;  for  my  Lord  is  with  me  now." 

And  gentle  girls,  too,  have  I  seen,  who  seem'd  for  earth  too 

frail, 
Tread  with  a  firm  confiding  step,  adown   that  lonesome 

vale ; 
Ay,  and  on  childhood's  pallid  lip  have  words  of  triumph 

play'd, 
And  tiny  fingers,  clasp'd  in  death,  told,  "  I  am  not  afraid." 
But  why  speak  on  of  scenes  like  these,  when  every  heart 

must  know 
Some  parent,  partner,  brother,  child,  who  trembled  not  to  go 


DEATH    AND    VICTORY.  237 

Where  Jesus'  steps  had  gone  before,  and  He  himself  is 

nigh, 
Whispering  above  those  boisterous  waves,  "  Fear  nothing, 

it  is  I?" 

Ours  is  the  grief,  who  still  are  left  in  this  far  wilderness, 
Which  will  at  times,  now  they  are  gone,  seem  blank  and 

comfortless. 
For  moments  spent  with  loving  hearts  are  breezes  from  the 

hills, 
And  the  balm  of  Christian  brotherhood  like  Eden's  dew 

distils : 
And  we  whose  footsteps  and  whose  hearts  so  often  fail  and 

faint, 
Seem  ill  to  spare  the  cheering  voice  of  one  departed  saint. 

But  oh,  we  sorrow  not  like  those  whom  no  bright  hopes 
sustain, 

For  them  who  sleep  in  Jesus,  God  will  with  Him  bring 
again. 

Love  craves  the  presence  and  the  sight  of  all  its  well- 
beloved, 

And  therefore  weep  we  in  the  homes  whence  they  are  far 
removed ; 


238  DEATH    AND    VICTORY. 

Love  craves  the  presence  and  the  sight  of  each  beloved 

one, 
And  therefore  Jesus  spake  the  word  which  caught  them  to 

His  throne :  — 
"  Father,  I  will  that  all  my  own,  which  Thou  hast  granted 

Me, 
Be  with  Me  where  I  am  to  share  my  glory's  bliss  with 

Thee." 

Thus  heaven  is  gathering,  one  by  one,  in  its  capacious 
breast, 

All  that  is  pure  and  permanent,  and  beautiful  and  blest ; 

The  family  is  scatter'd  yet,  though  of  one  home  and  heart. 

Part  militant  in  earthly  gloom,  in  heavenly  glory  part. 

But  who  can  speak  the  rapture,  when  the  circle  is  com- 
plete, 

And  all  the  children  sunder'd  now  around  one  Father 
meet? 

One  fold,  one  Shepherd,  one  employ,  one  everlasting  home : 

"  Lo !  I  come  quickly."  "  Even  so,  Amen  !  Lord  Jesu, 
come ! " 


1851. 


u{  J" 


THE  TROUBLE   OF  JESUS'   SOUL. 

John  xii.  27. 

"  And  now  is  my  soul  troubled/'     Can  it  be  ? 

O  speak  the  word  again,  and  yet  again. 

Thy  soul,  O  holy  Saviour,  troubled  ?     Peace, 

Be  comforted,  my  weak  and  weary  heart : 

There  is  a  deep  unfathomable  rest 

In  that  low  moan  of  anguish.     Was  Thy  soul, 

O  Jesu,  troubled,  tempest-tost,  like  mine  ?  — 

Troubled  ?  —  Thy  faith  held  fast  her  anchor-hold 

Upon  the  Rock  of  everlasting  strength : 

For  Thee  the  light  of  coming  glory  shone 

Beyond  all  clouds,  that  wrapp'd  the  vale  of  death 

It  was  Thy  daily  meat  and  drink  to  do 

Thy  Father's  will,  which  in  Thy  secret  breast 


240  THE    TROUBLE    OF   JESUS'    SOUL. 

Was  ever  springing  up  a  well  of  life, 

The  world  knew  nothing  of.     And  yet  Thy  soul 

Was  troubled. 


Trouble  then  was  uppermost, 
Not  joy,  not  peace,  but  trouble  and  unrest, 
What  time  these  holy  words  dropp'd  from  Thy  lips ; 
There  was  no  stain  of  sin  in  them,  no  film 
Of  evil ;  only  grief,  deep  sinless  grief, 
As  when  a  tempest  scourges  into  waves 
A  calm  and  crystal  lake. 

Oh,  peace,  my  heart : 
It  is  not  sin  to  feel  the  bitterness 
Of  sorrow,  nor  to  tremble,  as  the  storm 
Rocks  the  foundations  of  our  little  all : 
It  is  not  sin  to  weep,  and  make  our  moan. 
Nay,  for  this  human  suffering  Jesus  felt, 
And  wept,  and  shudder'd,  and  confess'd  His  woe ; 
Though  almost  in  the  self-same  breath  of  prayer 
He  pleaded,  "  Father,  glorify  Thy  name," 
And  meekly  bow'd  His  head  to  bear  the  cross. 


THB    TROUBLE    OF   JESUS'    SOUL.  241 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  these  Thy  words  of  grief; 

I  thank  Thee  more  for  Thy  victorious  love : 

So  teach  me  at  Thy  feet  to  kneel  and  learn, 

Until  my  feeble  prayer  re-echoes  Thine, 

"  Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  Thy  will  be  done." 


1862. 


11 


NO  MOKE   CRYING. 


Key.  xxi.  4. 


I  lay  upon  my  bed,  and  dream'd  a  dream. 
Time  and  its  conflicts  had,  methought,  long  since 
Been  number'd  with  the  past.     Nothing  was  heard 
But  Hallelujahs  from  the  universe : 
Our  Father's  will  was  done,  His  kingdom  come : 
Earth  was  a  nursery  for  heaven.     When,  lo ! 
Among  the  mingled  ranks  of  saints  and  seraphs 
Who  stood  before  the  throne,  a  short,  sharp  cry  — 
A  short,  sharp,  passionate  cry  —  suddenly  rose : 
One  cry,  and  from  the  humblest  of  that  throng ; 
One  little  cry,  and  in  a  moment  hush'd. 
But  instantly  the  glorious  tide  of  praise, 
Which  for  long  ages  had  flowed  on  and  on 


NO    MORE    CRYING.  243 

In  ever-deepening  waves  of  crystal  joy, 

Was  troubled.     Angel  on  archangel  look'd 

Amazed,  abash'd,  appall'd :  saint  gazed  on  saint 

Incredulous :  and  quickly  through  all  worlds 

The  sympathetic  tidings  spread  dismay. 

Wherefore  ?     Was  heaven's  felicity  so  frail  ? 

Whence  had  that  cry  such  terrors  ?     Sin,  sin,  sin : 

Faint,  feeble,  fugitive ;  but  real  sin. 

Had  Satan  broken  loose  ?     Should  evil  cast 

Again  its  dismal  shadow  over  good  ? 

Angels  grew  pale ;  all  faces  gather'd  gloom ; 

Thunders  began  to  roll.     And  with  the  shock 

I  woke ;  and  waking  knew  it  was  a  dream, 

A  feverish  nightmare-dream,  earth-born,  earth-bred, 

And  one  of  heaven's  impossibilities. 

1867. 


^  V  m  n  0 


i. 


THE   PRINCE   OF   PEACE. 

i. 
Hark,  hark !  the  advent  cry  again : 

The  angels  sing  His  birth, 
"  Glory  to  God,  good-will  to  men, 
And  peace  on  earth." 


ii. 


He  comes  ;  and  eager  listeners  throng 

The  lowly  path  He  trod ; 
For  peace  is  ever  on  His  tongue,  — 
The  peace  of  God. 


246  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEACE. 

III. 

See,  His  frail  bark  the  waters  fill : 

Yet  why  that  faithless  dread  ? 
Before  His  mighty  "  Peace,  be  still," 
The  storm  is  fled. 

IV. 

A  weeping  sinner  dares  to  touch 
And  bathe  His  feet  with  tears  : 
And  "  Go  in  peace :  thou  lovest  much," 
Is  all  she  hears. 

v. 

His  hour  is  come :  sad  bosoms  heave 

With  bodings  unexpress'd : 
Peace  —  grief  itself  forgets  to  grieve 
At  His  bequest. 

VI. 

O  never,  never,  gentle  Dove, 

Let  Thy  soft  pleadings  cease, 
Until  we  bask  in  light,  and  love, 
And  perfect  peace. 

1869. 


II. 


THE   ROCK   OF   AGES. 


Thou  art  the  same,  and  Thy  years  shall  have  no  end. 
Ps.  cii.  27. 


O  God,  the  Rock  of  Ages, 

Who  evermore  hast  been, 
What  time  the  tempest  rages, 

Our  dwelling-place  serene : 
Before  Thy  first  creations, 

O  Lord,  the  same  as  now, 
To  endless  generations 

The  Everlasting  Thou ! 

Our  years  are  like  the  shadows 
On  sunny  hills  that  lie, 

Or  grasses  in  the  meadows 
That  blossom  but  to  die : 


248  THE    ROCK    OF   AGES. 

A  sleep,  a  dream,  a  story 
By  strangers  quickly  told, 

An  unremaining  glory 

Of  things  that  soon  are  old. 

O  Thou,  who  canst  not  slumber, 

Whose  light  grows  never  pale, 
Teach  us  aright  to  number 

Our  years  before  they  fail. 
On  us  Thy  mercy  lighten, 

On  us  Thy  goodness  rest, 
And  let  Thy  Spirit  brighten 

The  hearts  Thyself  hast  bless'd. 

Lord,  crown  our  faith's  endeavor 

With  beauty  and  with  grace, 
Till,  clothed  in  light  for  ever, 

We  see  Thee  face  to  face  : 
A  joy  no  language  measures ; 

A  fountain  brimming  o'er ; 
An  endless  flow  of  pleasures ; 

An  ocean  without  shore. 

1862. 


III. 

THE   HIDING-PLACE. 

"  A  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding-place  from  the  wind  and  a  covert 
from  the  tempest,  as  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place,  as  the  shadow 
of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land."  -  Isa.  xxxii.  2. 

O  Jesu,  Saviour  of  the  lost, 
My  rock  and  hiding-place  ; 

By  storms  of  sin  and  sorrow  tost 
I  seek  Thy  sheltering  grace. 

Guilty,  forgive  me,  Lord,  I  cry ; 

Pursued  by  foes  I  come  ; 
A  sinner,  save  me,  or  I  die ; 

An  outcast,  —  take  me  home. 

Once  safe  in  Thine  Almighty  arms, 
Let  storms  come  on  amain ; 

There  danger  never,  never  harms, 
There  death  itself  is  gain. 
11* 


250  THE    HIDING-PLACE. 

And  when  I  stand  before  Thy  throne, 
And  all  Thy  glory  see ; 

Still  be  my  righteousness  alone, 
To  hide  myself  in  Thee. 

1850. 


IV. 

"ABIDE    IN    ME." 
John  xv.  4. 

"  Abide  in  Me,  and  I  in  you : " 
Ah,  blessed,  sweet  commands ; 
Soft  as  the  fall  of  early  dew, 
On  parched,  thirsty  lands. 

Abide  in  Thee,  my  Lord,  my  God, 

Omnipotent  to  save 
From  all  the  dangers  of  my  road, 

From  Satan  and  the  grave. 

In  thee,  whose  wisdom  none  can  tell, 
Whose  grace  no  limit  knows  ; 

Whose  love  divine,  unsearchable, 
A  boundless  ocean  flows. 


252 


1849. 


Then  welcome  joy,  and  farewell  fear, 
And  calm,  ye  wild  waves,  be ; 

If  only,  Lord,  Thy  voice  I  hear, 
"  My  child,  abide  in  Me." 


V. 

HYMN  TO  THE   HOLY  TRINITY. 


*  Who  shall  not  fear  Thee,  O  Lord,  and  glorify  Thy  name  1 " 
Rev.  xv.  4. 


Father  of  heaven  above, 
Dwelling  in  light  and  love, 

Ancient  of  days, 
Light  unapproachable, 
Love  inexpressible, 
Thee,  the  Invisible, 

Laud  we  and  praise. 

Christ,  the  eternal  Word, 
Christ,  the  incarnate  Lord, 

Saviour  of  all, 
High  throned  above  all  height, 
God  of  God,  Light  of  Light, 
Increate,  infinite, 

On  Thee  we  call. 


254  HYMN    TO    THE    HOLY    TRINITY. 

O  God,  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Whose  fires  of  Pentecost 

Burn  evermore, 
In  this  far  wilderness 
Leave  us  not  comfortless : 
Thee  we  love,  Thee  we  bless, 

Thee  we  adore. 

Strike  your  harps,  heavenly  powers ; 
With  your  glad  chants  shall  ours 

Trembling  ascend : 
All  praise,  O  God,  to  Thee, 
Three  in  One,  One  in  Three, 
Praise  everlastingly, 

World  without  end. 

1870. 


VI. 

THE    TRUMPET    OF    JUBILEE. 

"Trumpets  of  silver."  —  Numb.  x.  2. 

0  brothers,  lift  your  voices, 

Triumphant  songs  to  raise ; 
Till  heaven  on  high  rejoices, 

And  earth  is  fill'd  with  praise. 
Ten  thousand  hearts  are  bounding 

With  holy  hopes,  and  free ; 
The  Gospel  trump  is  sounding, 

The  trump  of  Jubilee, 

O  Christian  brothers  !  glorious 
Shall  be  the  conflict's  close : 

The  cross  hath  been  victorious, 
And  shall  be  o'er  its  foes. 


256  THE    TRUMPET    OF   JUBILEE. 

Faith  is  our  battle-token ; 

Our  Leader  all  controls ; 
Our  trophies,  fetters  broken ; 

Our  captives,  ransom'd  souls. 

Not  unto  us  —  Lord  Jesus, 

To  Thee  all  praise  be  due ! 
Whose  blood-bought  mercy  frees  us, 

Has  freed  our  brethren  too. 
Not  unto  us  —  in  glory 

The  angels  catch  the  strain, 
And  cast  their  crowns  before  Thee 

Exultingly  again. 

Captain  of  our  salvation, 

Thy  presence  we  adore : 
Praise,  glory,  adoration 

Be  Thine  for  evermore  ! 
Still  on  in  conflict  pressing 

On  Thee  Thy  people  call, 
Thee,  King  of  kings,  confessing, 

Thee  crowning  Lord  of  all. 


1849. 


VII. 

"HE    SHALL    GATHER   THE   LAMBS   WITH 
HIS   ARM." 

I8AIAH  Xl.  11. 

Poor  shepherdless  lambs,  amid  darkness  and  dangers, 
We  sported  in  paths  of  temptation  and  sin ; 

We  had  heedlessly  followed  the  bidding  of  strangers, 
None  guided  us  out,  and  none  folded  us  in. 

But  Jesus  heard  tell  of  our  pitiful  story, 

And  love  fill'd  His  bosom  with  grief  for  our  loss, 

For  us  He  forsook  the  bright  mansions  of  glory 
And  came  to  the  manger,  the  garden,  the  cross. 

He  sought  and  He  found :  in  His  bosom  He  laid  us, 
And  shew'd  us  the  marks  in  His  hands  and  His  feet, 

And  gently,  meanwhile,  to  His  sheep-fold  convey'd  us, 
A  shelter  from  tempest,  a  shadow  from  heat. 


258      "  HE  SHALL  GATHER  THE  LAMBS  WITH  HIS  ARM." 

With  His  crook  and  His  staff  He  doth  govern  and  guide 
us: 

How  green  are  the  pastures,  the  waters  how  clear ! 
While  Jesus  is  with  us,  what  harm  shall  betide  us  ? 

While  He  is  our  shepherd,  what  foe  shall  we  fear  ? 

'Tis  true  that  in  places  the  path  may  be  thorny ; 

And  of  the  dark  valley  He  us  has  foretold ; 
But  He  promises  He  will  go  all  the  long  journey, 

And  bring  us  safe  through  to  His  heavenly  fold. 

He  says,  be  the  path  thither  longer  or  shorter, 
No  cloud  ever  darkens  our  home  in  the  skies ; 

For  He'll  lead  us  beside  living  fountains  of  water, 
And  God  shall  wipe  off  every  tear  from  our  eyes. 


1850. 


VIII. 

BAPTISM   OF   SUCH  AS   ARE   OF   RIPER 
YEARS. 

"  And  now,  why  tamest  thou  ?  Arise,  and  be  baptized,  and 
wash  away  thy  sins,  calling  on  the  name  of  the  Lord."  —  Acts 
xxii.  16. 

Stand,  soldier  of  the  cross, 
Thy  high  allegiance  claim, 
And  vow  to  hold  the  world  but  loss 
For  thy  Redeemer's  name. 

Arise,  and  be  baptized, 
And  wash  thy  sins  away : 
Thy  faith  and  hope  be  realized, 
Thy  love  avouch'd  to-day. 

Our  heavenly  country  now, 
Our  Lord  and  Master,  thine, 
Receive  imprinted  on  thy  brow 
His  Passion's  awful  sign. 


260      BAPTISM    OF    SUCH    AS    ARE    OF    RIPER    YEARS. 

No  more  thine  own,  but  Christ's; 
With  all  the  saints  of  old, 
Apostles,  seers,  evangelists, 

And  martyr  throngs  enroll'd,  — 

In  God's  whole  armor  strong, 
Front  hell's  embattled  powers : 
The  warfare  may  be  sharp  and  long, 
The  victory  must  be  ours. 

O  bright  the  conqueror's  crown, 
The  song  of  triumph  sweet, 
When  faith  casts  every  trophy  down 
At  our  Great  Captain's  feet. 

1870. 


IX. 

CONFIRMATION   HYMN. 

[  To  be  sung  after  the  benedictory  prayer,  "  Defend,  0  Lord,  this  Thy 
servant  with  Thy  heavenly  grace,  that  he  may  continue  Thine  for 
ever,"  #-c] 

"  I  am  Thine,  save  me."  —  Ps.  cxix.  94. 

"  Thine,  Thine  for  ever  "  —  blessed  bond 

That  knits  ns,  Lord,  to  Thee  : 
May  voice,  and  heart,  and  soul  respond 

Amen,  so  let  it  be. 

When  this  world  strikes  its  dulcet  harp, 

And  earth  our  heaven  appears, 
Be  "  Thine  for  ever,"  clear  and  sharp, 

God's  trumpet  in  our  ears. 

When  sin  in  pleasure's  soft  disguise 

Would  work  us  deadliest  harm, 
May  "  Thine  for  ever  "  from  the  skies 

Steal  down,  and  break  the  charm. 


262  CONFIRMATION    HYMN. 

When  Satan  flings  his  fiery  darts 
Against  our  weary  shield, 

May  "  Thine  for  ever  "  in  our  hearts 
Forbid  us  faint  or  yield. 

Thine  all  along  the  flowery  spring, 
Along  che  summer  prime, 

Till  autumn  fades  in  welcoming 
The  silver  frost  of  time. 

"  Thine,  Thine  for  ever  "  —  body,  soul, 
Henceforth  devote  to  thee, 

While  everlasting  ages  roll : 
Amen,  so  let  it  be. 


1870. 


X. 


REST  IN   THE   LORD:    MARRIAGE   HYMN. 

"  Rest  in  the  Lord."—  Ps.  xxxvii.  7. 

Rest  in  the  Lord  —  from  harps  above 

The  music  seems  to  thrill  — 
Rest  in  His  everlasting  love, 
Rest  and  be  still. 

Rest  thou,  who  claimest  for  thine  own 

Thy  chosen  bride  to-day, 
Affianced  in  His  faith  alone 
Thy  bride  for  aye. 

And  thou,  whose  trustful  hand  is  given 

Avouching  here  thy  spouse, 
Rest,  for  a  Father  seals  in  heaven 
His  children's  vows. 


264     REST  IN  THE  LORD:  MARRIAGE  HYMN. 

Rest  ye,  who  cluster  round  them  both 

To  mingle  praise  and  prayers ; 
Your  God  affirms  the  plighted  troth, 
Your  God  and  theirs. 

Rest,  for  the  Heavenly  Bridegroom  here 

Is  standing  by  your  side, 
And  in  this  union  draws  more  near 
His  mystic  bride. 

Rest  in  the  Lord  —  thrice  Holy  Dove, 

In  us  Thy  word  fulfil  — 
Rest  in  His  everlasting  love, 
Rest  and  be  still. 


1869. 


XL 

THE    MARRIAGE    BENEDICTION. 

"Being  heirs  together  of  the  grace  of  life."  —  1  Pet.  iii.  7. 

[To  be  sung  after  the  blessing,  "Almighty  God,  who  at  the  beginning  did 
create  our  first  parents"  frc.] 

Ere  the  words  of  peace  and  love, 
Breathed  on  earth,  are  borne  above, 
While  their  echo,  soft  and  clear, 
Lingers  on  the  tranced  ear,  — 
Catch  upon  your  lips  the  strain, 
Swell  the  notes  of  prayer  again, 
Prayer  with  benedictions  fraught, 
Passing  words  and  passing  thought : 

Co-eternal  Three  in  One, 

Seal  the  nuptial  benison. 

Blessings  from  the  earth  beneath, 
Fruits  and  flowers  in  woven  wreath ; 
12 


266  THE    MARRIAGE    BENEDICTION. 

Balmy  dews  that  heaven  distils 
On  the  everlasting  hills  ; 
Angel  wings,  a  guard  of  light 
O'er  the  peaceful  home  by  night ; 
Angel  steps  to  tend  the  way 
Onward,  heavenward,  day  by  day : 
Co-eternal  Three  in  One, 
Seal  the  nuptial  benison. 

Hear  our  prayer :  this  union  be 
Ratified,  O  God,  by  Thee ; 
This  another  link  entwined 
Hearts  and  homes  and  heaven  to  bind 
In  that  mystic  chain  of  love, 
Holding  us,  but  held  above ; 
Knitting  all  that  world  to  this, 
Eden's  bloom  to  glory's  bliss : 
Co-Eternal  Three  in  One, 
Seal  the  nuptial  benison. 

Three  in  One,  and  One  in  Three, 
Blessedness  is  blessing  Thee ; 


THK    MA.BRIAGE    BLNKDICTION.  267 

While  we  pour  in  chant  and  hymn 

Full  hearts,  flowing  o'er  the  brim,  — 

Water  by  Thy  power  benign 

Blushing  as  celestial  wine,  — 

Till  within  the  golden  gates, 

Where  the  Lamb  His  bridal  waits, 

We  with  all  the  white-robed  throngs 
Sing  the  heavenly  Song  of  Songs. 

***  This  Hymn  may  be  most  appropriately  sung  to  the  first  tune  (Air 
by  Mendelssohn)  assigned  to  No.  43,  "  Hark!  the  herald  angels  sing,"  in 
"Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern." 


1869. 


XII. 

THE    VILLAGE    EVENING    HYMN. 

Strangers  and  pilgrims  on  the  earth."  —  Heb.  xi.  13. 

Hark,  the  nightly  church-bell  numbers 
One  day  more  with  by-gone  things ; 

Saviour,  o'er  our  peaceful  slumbers 
Spread  Thy  everlasting  wings. 

One  day  less  of  sin  and  sadness, 
One  day  nearer  heaven  and  home : 

Travellers  to  light  and  gladness, 
Qnward  stage  by  stage  we  roam. 

One  day  less  of  toil  and  labor, 
One  day  nearer  rest,  and  Thee. 

Child  and  parent,  friend  and  neighbor, 
Lift  your  voice,  and  bend  your  knee. 


THE    VILLAGE    EVENING-HYMN.  269 

Blessed  Spirit,  hover  o'er  us, 

Sleeping,  waking,  be  Thou  near ; 
Comrades,  there  is  joy  before  us, 

Rest  in  peace,  and  rise  in  prayer. 


1853. 


XIII. 

HYMN  TO  BE   USED   AT   SEA. 

"  O  God  of  our  salvation,  who  art  the  confidence  of  them  that  are 
afar  off  upon  the  sea."  —  Ps.  lxv.  5. 

Lord  of  the  ocean,  hear  our  cry, 
As  o'er  the  trackless  deep  we  roam ; 
Be  Thou,  our  haven,  always  nigh ; 
On  homeless  waters  Thou  our  home. 

O  Jesu,  Saviour,  at  whose  voice 
The  tempest  sank  to  perfect  rest, 
Bid  Thou  the  mourner's  heart  rejoice, 
And  cleanse  and  calm  the  troubled  breast. 

O  Holy  Ghost,  beneath  whose  power 

Creation  woke  to  life  and  light, 

Command  Thy  blessing  in  this  hour, 

Thy  fostering  warmth,  Thy  quickening  might. 


HYMN    TO    BE    USED    AT    SEA.  271 

Great  God,  Triune  Jehovah,  Thee 
We  love,  we  worship,  we  adore ; 
Our  refuge  on  time's  changeful  sea, 
Our  joy  on  heaven's  eternal  shore. 


1869. 


XIV. 

THE  INSTITUTION  OF  THE  LORD'S 
SUPPER. 

"I  will  not  drink  henceforth  of  this  fruit  of  the  vine,  until 
I  drink  it  new  with  you  in  my  Father's  kingdom."  —  Matt. 
xxvi.  29. 

The  hour  is  come ;  the  feast  is  spread : 

Behold  My  body  given  ; 
Behold  My  life-blood  freely  shed 

To  ransom  souls  for  heaven. 

When  of  this  cup  I  drink  again, 

In  glory  and  with  you, 
No  tears  its  perfect  joy  shall  stain, 

A  joy  for  ever  new. 

Ere  then  ten  thousand  thousand  times 

My  table  shall  be  spread, 
And  countless  souls  in  distant  climes 

Be  comforted  and  fed. 


THE    INSTITUTION    OF   THE    LORD'S    SUPPER.        273 

Grace,  mercy,  peace  be  multiplied 

To  those  who  commune  there ; 
While  seated  by  My  Father's  side 

Their  mansion  I  prepare. 

But  now  these  lips  a  different  cup 

For  you  must  taste  and  drain, 
And  unrepiningly  drink  up 

The  dregs  of  bitter  pain. 

The  griefs  ye  know  not  that  are  Mine, 

Nor  yet  My  glories  see ; 
But  break  the  bread,  and  drink  the  wine, 

And  thus  remember  Me. 


1850. 


12* 


XV. 


COMMUNION   OF   THE   SICK. 


"  I  sleep,  but  my  heart  waketh  :  it  is  the  voice  of  my  beloved 
that  knocketh,  saying,  Open  to  me,  my  sister,  my  love,  my  dove, 
my  undefiled  :  for  my  head  is  filled  with  dew,  and  my  locks  with 
the  drops  of  the  night."  —  Song  v.  2. 

"Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock:  if  any  man  hear 
my  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him,  and  will  sup 
with  him,  and  he  with  me."  —  Rev.  iii.  20. 


The  sun  is  set,  the  twilight's  o'er, 
The  night  dews  fall  like  rain : 

A  Prince  stands  at  a  suppliant's  door, 
And  knocks,  and  knocks  again. 

"  J  slumber ;  but  my  heart  is  moved 

With  joy  and  holy  fear : 
Is  it  thy  footstep,  O  beloved, 

Thy  hand,  Thy  voice  I  hear?" 


COMMUNION    OF    THE    SICK.  275 

"  'Tis  I,  thy  Lord,  who  stand  and  wait 

Beneath  the  darkening  sky : 
Arise,  unbar,  unclose  the  gate, 

Fear  nothing ;  it  is  I. 

"  The  bread  of  life  is  in  My  hand ; 

The  wine  of  heaven  I  bring : 
Fulfil  My  tenderest  last  command : 

Thy  Bridegroom  is  thy  King. 

"  Eat,  drink ;  and  muse  in  loving  trust, 

The  while  I  sup  with  thee, 
If  this  be  heaven  on  earth,  what  must 

My  Bridal  banquet  be." 


1869. 


XVI. 


TILL   HE    COME. 


"  As  often  as  ye  eat  this  bread,  and  drink  this  cup,  ye  do  show 
forth  the  Lord's  death  till  He  come."  —  1  Cor.  xi.  26. 


"  Till  He  come  —  "     Oh,  let  the  words 

Linger  on  the  trembling  chords ; 

Let  the  little  while  between 

In  their  golden  light  be  seen ; 

Let  us  think  how  heaven  and  home 

Lie  beyond  that  "  Till  He  come." 

When  the  weary  ones  we  love 
Enter  on  their  rest  above, 
Seems  the  earth  so  poor  and  vast, 
All  our  life-joy  overcast : 
Hush,  be  every  murmur  dumb, 
It  is  only  —  till  He  come. 


TILL    HE    COME.  277 

Clouds  and  conflicts  round  us  press : 
Would  we  have  one  sorrow  less  ? 
All  the  sharpness  of  the  cross, 
All  that  tells  the  world  is  loss, 
Death,  and  darkness,  and  the  tomb, 
Only  whisper,  "  Till  He  come." 

See,  the  feast  of  love  is  spread, 
Drink  the  wine,  and  break  the  bread, — 
Sweet  memorials,  —  till  the  Lord 
Call  us  round  His  heavenly  board ; 
Some  from  earth,  from  glory  some, 
Sever'd  only  —  till  He  come. 


1861. 


XVII. 

"HARPERS  HARPING  WITH  THEIR  HARPS." 

Revelation  xiv.  2. 

On  the  hill  of  Zion  standing, 
Lo  !  the  Lamb  of  God  appears  : 

Scenes  of  glory  far  expanding, 
Far  above  this  vale  of  tears ; 
Songs  of  rapture,  falling  sweet  on  mortal  ears. 

Lo !  He  comes  !  with  awful  wonder : 
Hark,  those  strains  of  joy  untold ; 

Deepening  on  and  on  like  thunder 
Never  learnt  or  sung  of  old : 
Blissful  harpers,  harping  on  their  harps  of  gold. 

Lo  !  He  comes  !  in  heaven  appearing, 

Mark  yon  herald  angel's  flight, 
Glad  eternal  tidings  bearing 

To  the  lands  of  heathen  night. 
O'er  the  nations  breaks  a  flood  of  Gospel  light. 


"harpers  harping  with  their  harps."      279 

Lo !  He  comes !  the  heavens  unfold  Him ; 

King  of  Kings,  He  comes  to  reign ; 
Crown'd,  enthroned,  ye  saints,  behold  Him, 
Once  for  you  baptized  in  pain. 
Come,  Lord  Jesus !     Even  so,  Amen,  Amen. 


1849. 


XVIII. 


HE    COMETH. 


"Hallelujah  :  for  the  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth.' 
Rev.  xix.  6. 


Hallelujah!  He  cometh  with  clouds  and  with  light, 
And  the  trumpet  of  God,  in  the  silence  of  night : 
Heaven's  armies  before  Him  adoringly  bend, 
And  thousands  of  thousands  His  bidding  attend. 

Hallelujah !  He  cometh :  and  every  eye 
Beholds  Him  with  anguish  or  rapturous  joy  ; 
A  wailing  is  heard  from  the  kindreds  of  earth, 
It  is  drown'd  in  Hosannas  of  heavenly  mirth. 

Hallelujah !  He  cometh  :  the  judgment  is  set, 
And  the  nations  are  gather'd  in  crowds  to  His  feet ; 
The  earth  and  the  ocean  have  yielded  their  dead, 
And  the  records  of  time  are  unfolded  and  read. 


HE    COMETH.  281 

Hallelujah !  earth  crumbles  in  ashes  and  dust, 
While  calmly  He  severs  the  wicked  and  just, 
The  shadows  of  darkness  are  driven  away, 
And  the  morning  has  dawn'd  of  eternal  day. 


1850. 


THE    WALK    TO    EMMAUS. 

Slowly  along  the  rugged  pathway  walk'd 

Two  sadden'd  wayfarers,  bent  on  one  quest ;  — 

With  them  Another  who  had  ask'd  to  share 

Their  travel,  since  they  left  the  city  walls ;  — 

Their  converse  too  intent  for  speed :  and  oft, 

Where  linger'd  on  the  rocks  the  sunset  tints, 

They  check'd  their  footsteps,  careless  of  the  hour 

And  waning  light  and  heavy  falling  dews. 

For  from  the  Stranger's  lips  came  words,  that  burn'd 

And  lit  the  altar  fuel  on  their  hearts, 

Consuming  fear,  and  quickening  faith  at  once. 

God's  oracles  grew  luminous  as  He  spake ; 

And  all  along  the  ages  Good  from  111 

And  light  from  darkness  sprang,  as  day  from  night. 


THE    WALK    TO    EMMAUS.  283 

The  first  faint  dawn  from  ruin'd  Eden  rose, 

And  glimmer'd  round  the  solitary  ark. 

And  lighted  up  Moriah's  sacrifice, 

And  shed  its  warmth  on  Jacob's  dying  couch, 

And  bathed  the  blood-stained  mercy-seat  with  love ; 

The  Eastern  heavens  were  flush'd  with  rosier  gleams  ; 

It  woke  the  minstrel  shepherd,  and  his  hand, 

Obedient  to  the  gladness,  struck  his  harp, 

"  Joy  cometh  in  the  morning ; "  and  the  words 

Thereafter  lived  in  song.     Isaiah's  soul 

Glow'd  with  the  coming  glory,  and  hi  j  page 

Caught  the  far  splendors  of  the  orient  clouds ; 

And  plaintive  Jeremy  look'd  up  and  smiled ; 

And  rapt  Ezekiel  breathed  his  hopes  in  fire. 

A  deeper  shade  is  glooming  on  the  hills  : 

A  livelier  amber  brightens  in  the  sky 

And  broadens,  till  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 

Rises  at  last  with  healing  in  His  wings. 

Thus  on  their  path  they  communed,  till  they  reach'd 
The  lowly  wicket,  and  their  urgent  plea, 
"  D:iy  is  far  spent,  abide  with  us,"  prevail'd. 
The  lamp  is  lighted  o'er  the  simple  board ; 


284  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 

And  there  is  silence  for  a  space :  but  lo, 
The  Stranger  takes  the  bread  and  blesses  it 
And  breaks  :  and  like  a  dream  the  veil  is  rent 
Which  hid  their  Lord  and  Master  from  their  gaze. 
It  is  His  eye,  His  hand,  His  voice,  Himself. 
Fain  had  they  fallen  at  His  feet,  and  fain 
Clung  to  Him  as  of  old :  it  may  not  be ; 
His  place  is  empty,  but  His  love  is  there, 
A  calm  abiding  Presence  in  their  hearts. 

O  Jesu,  Saviour,  hear  our  cry.     We  too 
Are  weary  travellers  on  life's  rough  path. 
And  Thou  art  still  unchangeably  the  same. 
Come,  Lord,  to  us,  and  let  us  walk  with  Thee : 
Come  and  unfold  the  words  of  heavenly  life, 
Till  our  souls  burn  within  us,  and  the  day 
Breaks,  and  the  Day-star  rises  in  our  hearts. 
Yea,  Lord,  abide  with  us,  rending  the  veil 
Which  hides  Thee  from  the  loving  eye  of  faith, 
Dwell  with  us  to  the  world's  end  evermore, 
Until  thou  callest  us  to  dwell  with  Thee. 


1870. 


-^*®5 


THE  THREE  FOLLOWING  POEMS 


OBTAINED 


THE    CHANCELLOR'S    MEDAL 

at  the  cambridge  commencement,  in 
the  years  1844,  1845,  1846. 


THE  TOWER  OF   LONDON. 

cuTuvov,  alTuvov  elnh,  rd  d'  ev  vlkcltw. 


I  stood  beside  the  waters  —  and  at  night  — 

The  voice  of  thousands  now  at  last  was  still ; 
Silent  the  streets,  and  the  wan  moon's  pale  light 

Fell  silently  upon  the  waters  chill. 

Ah  !  silence  there  —  strange  visions  seem  to  fill 
My  desolate  spirit  —  for  I  stood  the  last, 

I,  the  lone  lingerer  by  the  lonely  hill : 
The  stars  wept  night-dews,  and  the  fitful  blast, 
Whispering  of  other  years,  beside  me  moan'd  and  pass'd. 


288  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 


II. 

I  leant  and  mused.     Beneath  the  midnight  sky, 
Stretch'd  in  dim  outline,  rose  those  turrets  gray : 

Like  wave-worn  monuments,  where  passers  by 
Linger,  and  dream  of  ages  pass'd  away, 
They  stood  in  silence.     Strangely  wild  were  they  ; 

For  Silence  hath  unto  herself  a  spell  : 
She  hath  a  siren  voice ;  and  like  the  play 

Of  winds  on  crystal  waters,  she  can  tell 
Of  regions  all  her  own,  where  dream-like  fancies  dwell. 


in. 

And  led  by  her  I  dreamt,  and  saw,  methought, 
The  time  when  yonder  waters  rolFd  between 

No  walls  and  granite  turrets,  but,  untaught, 

Through  the  oak  forest  and  the  woodland  green 
Flow'd,  kissing  every  floweret.     Wild  the  scene : 

For  Britons  roam'd  along  the  tangled  shore 
With  happy  hearts,  and  bold  unfearing  mien ; 

Their  war-songs  sang  they  the  blue  waters  o'er, 
In  all  things  Freedom's  children,  hers  erelong  no  more. 


THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON.  289 


IV. 

Heard  ye  the  eagle  swooping  ?     Nursed  in  pride, 

Rome's  blood-stain'd  armies  sought  these  shores,  and 
flung 

Her  tyrant  banners  o'er  the  reckless  tide : 

The  waves  dash'd  on,  but  bitter  chains  were  hung 
Round  freemen's  necks  :  a  nation's  heart  was  wrung ! 

Few,  few,  and  weary,  see  them  wending  slow, 
Fair  girls  and  hoary  warriors,  old  and  young, 

To  brave  an  exile's  lot,  and  exile's  woe, 
Far  from  their  native  hearths  on  Cambria's  wilds  of  snow. 

v. 

Then  rose,  as  legends  tell,  yon  turrets,  piled 
By  the  proud  victor  to  enchain  the  free ; 

Swiftly  they  rose,  —  but  oh !  when  morning  smiled 
First  on  those  towers  from  out  the  golden  sea, 
Where  Rome's  proud  eagle,  Britain,  mock'd  at  thee, 

Who  could  have  guess'd  the  dark  and  wondrous  story 
Of  things  that  have  been  there  and  yet  shall  be  ? 

Written  too  oft  in  letters  deeply  gory  — 
A  captive's  tale  of  tears,  yet  bright  with  deeds  of  glory. 

13 


290  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 


VI. 

Like  one  who  bending  o'er  the  waves  that  sleep 
'Mid  Tyre's  old  fabled  battlements  descries 

Their  faint  dim  outline  in  the  silent  deep,1 
Till  in  the  shadowy  light  before  his  eyes 
Dome  after  dome  begins  erelong  to  rise ;  — 

Thus  the  far  landscape  of  the  past  we  scan, 
And  wondrous  seem  and  dark  its  mysteries, 

Till  truth  hath  lit  Time's  strangely-pictured  plan, 
And  ah !  yet  stranger  still,  the  passionate  heart  of  man. 


VII. 


And  when  I  stood  beside  that  hoary  pile 
Its  legends  rose  like  phantoms  of  the  tomb : 

Spell-bound  I  linger'd  there,  and  mused  awhile 
On  every  tower  and  spirit-haunted  room  ; 
Mused  o'er  the  cells  of  Hope's  untimely  doom, 

1  The  ruins  of  Tyre  are  said  to  be  seen  under  the  waves. 


THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON.  291 

And  the  yet  drearier  vaulted  caves  below, 

Where  heaven's  pure  light  ne'er  trembled  through  the 
gloom ; 
Some  with  their  tale  of  wonder,  some  of  woe  — 
Here  where  the  heart  might  throb,  and  there  where  tears 
mijrht  flow. 


VIII. 

Methought  I  saw  two  happy  children  lying, 
Lock'd  in  each  other's  arms,  at  dead  of  night, 

Peace  smiled  beside,  but  Love  stood  o'er  them  sighing : — 
And  I  heard  stealthy  footsteps  treading  light  — 
List !  —  steps  of  murderers  ?  —  never !  for  that  sight 

Must  break  a  heart  of  marble :  yet  'tis  done,  — 
Low  smother 'd  groans  too  truly  told  aright 

As  one  they  lived  and  loved,  they  died  as  one  — 
None  there  to  save  them  ?  weeping  Echo  answers,  "  None." 


IX. 

Yet  childhood  is  a  sunny  dream,  and  we 

Can  scarcely  mourn  when  it  doth  pass  away 


292  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 

Unclouded  to  heaven's  sunshine ;  and  to  me 
Those  towers  where  winged  spirits  day  by  day 
Have  lived  unmurmuring  on  to  life's  decay 

Seem  yet  more  strangely  sad :  —  and  such  was  thine, 
O  thou  whose  far  keen  eyesight  won  its  way 

O'er  Time's  drear  ages,  till  there  seem'd  to  shine 
Across  the  starless  gulf  Truth's  glorious  arch  divine.1 


x. 

Man  scales  the  mountain-tops,  but  o'er  the  mist 
The  eagle  hovering  seeks  its  native  sky, 

And  the  free  clouds  still  wander  where  they  list, 
And  still  the  waves  are  tameless.     Thus  on  high 
Thy  thoughts  at  pleasure  could  take  wing  and  fly, 

Though  fetter'd  were  thy  limbs,  and  thus  didst  thou 
Visit  each  clime  and  age  with  wandering  eye, 

And  win  a  fadeless  garland  for  thy  brow, 
And  free  with  wisdom's  freedom,  deign  to  her  to  bow. 


1  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  during  his  long  imprisonment  wrote  his 
immortal  "History  of  the  World." 


THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON.  293 


XI. 

A  sadder  turret,  minstrel,  bids  thee  linger, 

And  weave  a  sadder  strain  for  her  that's  gone ;  * 
O  gently  touch  thy  chords  with  sorrow's  finger, 

Nor  let  thy  music  without  tears  flow  on. 

Low  from  that  tower  she  lean'd,  while  yet  there  shone 
The  rosy  blush  of  evening  in  her  cell ; 

Her  eye  was  raised  to  heaven,  her  look  was  wan, 
And  on  her  bosom  tears  full  quickly  fell,  — 
Sad  tribute  to  her  land,  its  dying  child's  farewell. 

XII. 

"  Oh !  other  were  the  dreams,"  she  weeping  cried, 
"  That  rose  and  smiled  upon  mine  infant  years  ! 

Bright  were  they  in  their  freshness  —  all  have  died  — 
My  fancied  garlands  were  but  gemm'd  with  tears, 
My  starry  guide  a  meteor,  and  mine  ears 

Caught  but  false  siren  strains ;  yet,  frail  and  young, 
I  deem'd  that  star  a  light  of  other  spheres, 

Snatch'd  at  the  wreath,  drank  in  the  illusive  song, 
And  now,  to-morrow . . .  hush  !  my  throbs  will  cease  erelong. 

1  Lady  Jane  Grey. 


294  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 


XIII. 

"To-morrow  —  'tis  a  strange  and  fearful  call  — 
To-morrow's  eve  and  I  shall  be  no  more. 

Yet  why  so  fearful  unto  me  ?     We  all 
Are  voyaging  towards  a  distant  shore, 
Toss'd  on  life's  fitful  billows,  whose  wild  roar 

Drowns  the  far  music  of  our  heavenly  home : 
A  few  more  surging  waves  to  traverse  o'er, 

Some  little  stormy  wind,  some  billowy  foam, 
And  I  have  gain'd  my  bourn  —  oh !  ne'er  again  to  roam." 

XIV. 

That  morrow  came ;  the  young  and  lovely  one 

Was  led  where  soon  her  mangled  corse  should  lie : 
There,  breaking  hearts  and  stifled  sighs — and  none 

Look'd  without  tears  on  her  blue  tearless  eye. 

Yet  seem'd  she  all  too  beautiful  to  die, 
Ere  love  and  gladness  from  her  cheek  had  flown :  — 

Fond  dreamer !  knowest  thou  not  the  happy  sky 
Claims  first  the  loveliest  flowerets  for  its  own  ? 
Heaven's  nurslings,  lent  to  earth  as  exiled  plants  alone. 


THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON.  295 


XV. 

I  mused  in  sadness,  for  methought  there  fell 

Her  smile  on  me,  her  loveliest,  her  last. 
But  hark  !  the  watchword  of  the  sentinel. 

Changed  were  my  dreams  —  yon  nightly  turrets  cast 

Upon  my  soul  the  image  of  the  past ; 
And  many  were  the  thoughts,  and  wild  and  wide, 

Echoing  of  thee,  my  country,  'mid  the  blast  — 
There  have  thy  monarchs  fought,  thy  chieftains  died, 
And  queenly  hearts  for  thee  throbb'd  high  with  hero  pride. 


XVI. 

Time-honored  Towers  !  whence  ever  floated  free 
Old  England's  banners  over  hearts  as  bold ! 

Within  whose  walls  the  sceptre  of  the  sea 
Lies  by  the  sword  of  mercy  —  where  is  told 
The  thrilling  tale  o'er  many  a  trophy  old, 

AY  here  diadems  rest,  and  helm  and  spear  are  piled, 
And  standards  in  a  thousand  fights  unrolPd, 

Oh  there  the  heart  must  lose  itself,  and  wild 
Will  be  its  wandering-song  —  of  vision'd  dreams  the  child. 


296  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 


XVII. 


I  look'd  upon  thy  walls  when  day  was  closing, 
Mighty  and  vast  they  rose  upon  the  sight, 

In  massive  grandeur  silently  reposing : 

List !  'tis  the  hush  of  evening  —  dimly  bright 
The  moon  just  glimmer'd,  and  the  listless  night 

Was  brooding  over  wave  and  tower  sublime, 
When  suddenly  there  gleam'd  a  fatal  light 

Amid  those  frowning  ramparts  —  'twas  the  time 
When  all  things  slumber  on,  and  nigh  the  midnight  chime. 


XVIII. 

But  hark !  the  crash  of  timbers  —  then  the  hush 
Of  breathless  whispering  rose,  and  the  red  glow 

Grew  momently  more  vivid,  and  the  rush 
Of  hurrying  footsteps  echoed  to  and  fro  — 
And  like  a  dream  it  pass'd  of  flames  and  woe. 

I  look'd  upon  thy  walls  when  morn  was  riding 
In  sunshine  o'er  the  rosy  hills,  and  lo ! 

Amid  the  wreck,  like  spectres  unabiding, 
Glory  and  Desolation  hand  in  hand  were  gliding. 


THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON.  297 


XIX. 


The  heart  must  catch  at  omens,  and  must  weave 
From  passing  meteors  dreams  of  hope  or  fear ! 

And  some,  my  country,  speak  a  mournful  eve 
Of  thy  long  day  of  glory.     Far  and  near 
The  storm-clouds,  brooding  round  thy  skirts  appear ; 

And  waitings,  as  of  winds  through  woods,  are  heard: 
And  hangs,  like  death,  the  heavy  atmosphere : 

And  smitten  as  with  some  prophetic  word 
The  strong  foundations  of  the  earth  are  moved  and  stirr'd. 


XX. 

The- nations  are  disquieted,  the  heart 
Of  princes  ill  at  ease :  the  fearful  bow 

Their  heads  and  tremble :  with  hush'd  voice  apart 
The  mighty  stand,  with  pale  though  dauntless  brow, 
Asking  of  every  hour  —  "  What  bringest  thou  ?  " 

And  if  a  murmur  whisper  through  the  sky 

They  hush  their  breath,  and  cry,  "  It  cometh  now." 

What  cometh  ?     Stay  —  it  heeds  thee  not  to  fly, 
Unknown,  though  on  its  way  —  unseen,  yet  surely  nigh. 

13* 


208  THE    TOWER    OF    LONDON. 

XXI. 

But  who  shall  dare,  though  storms  are  round  thy  way, 
To  write  upon  thy  banners,  Ichabod  ? * 

Thv  strength  is  Dot  in  ramparts  built  of  clay, 
Nor  in  thy  fearless  children,  who  have  trod 
The  waves  as  proudly  as  their  native  sod ; 

But  heavenly  watchers  aye  have  guarded  thee  — 
God  is  thy  refuge,  and  thy  rampart  God. 

Here  lies  thy  might,  His  arm  thy  trust  shall  be 
Amid  the  wildest  storms  of  Time's  untravell'd  sea. 

Trinity  College,  1844. 

1  "The  glory  is  departed." 


CAUBUL. 

.  .  .  tnel  ovn  fioi  aiTiol  elolv 
ov  )<ip  Tiuttot*  Eftug  (3ovg  rfkaaav,  Me  fisv  Ittitovc, 
ov6e  izoTy  kv  $Oiri  kpifiulfouu,  puTiavEipy, 
Kapirbv  idijlijoavT* '.     ekeuj  fiuAa  noTOiu  fisra^i) 
ovpsa  te  (jKLOEvra  Qakaoou  te  7jX*leaGa'  —  Mad,  i.  153. 

I. 
u  Sweep  o'er  thy  strings,  and  hymn  the  gorgeous  East, 

Clime  of  the  sun,  and  of  the  roseate  morning." 
Dim  voices  whisper'd  thus  my  soul,  and  ceased. 
And  straightway  at  the  echo  of  their  warning 
Came  visions  many  a  one  in  bright  adorning, 
Clustering  like  clouds  instinct  with  light  around  me : 

And  music,  as  of  winds  and  waters,  scorning 
The  slumber  of  the  twilight  hills,  spell-bound  me, 
Till  where  the  stars  had  left  the  dew-bright  sunshine  found 
me. 


300  CAUBUL. 

II. 

Oh  land  of  dreams  and  legendary  song, 

Strange  are  the  wonders  they  of  fabling  story 

Tell  of  thy  haunted  scenery !     Far  along 

The  maze  of  thousand  years  through  gloom  and  glory, 
Like  some  wild  landscape  wrapt  in  vapors  hoary, 

The  eye  must  wander,  ere  it  reach  the  time, 

Ye  Eastern  shores,  where  mystery  hung  not  o'er  ye : 

Dim  forms  sweep  looming  through  the  mists  of  crime, 
Or  stand  in  light  apparell'd  on  those  hills  sublime. 

in. 

And  ever  as  I  pondered,  empires  vast 

Rose  on  my  view,  and  vanish'd  as  they  came; 
And  heroes  meteor-like  before  me  pass'd, 

Their  pathway  dimm'd  with  blood  and   track'd   by 
flame: 

Yet  fell  they  all  in  darkness.     Haply  Fame 
Shed  transient  tears  for  them ;  but  soon  there  shone 

Another  star  far  flashing  —  and  the  same 
Brief  tale  was  told  —  and  ever  and  anon 
Though  gleaming  high  as  heaven,  I  look'd,  and  they  were 


CAUBUL.  301 


IV. 

But  one 1  there  was,  whose  dazzling  train  of  fire 
Startled  the  sleeping  night  in  her  repose ; 

The  blue  heavens  kindled  as  he  pass'd  —  the  choir 
Of  stars  was  troubled.     From  afar  he  rose, 
Where  in  the  evening  light  there  faintly  glows 

Mild  radiance  o'er  the  hills  of  Macedon  ; 
And  rushing  forth,  despite  a  nation's  throes, 

Through  blood  and  breaking  hearts  and  sorrows  wan, 
To  Persia's  confines  drove  his  stormy  chariot  on. 

v. 

2  Thy  rugged  passes,  Caubul,  saw  that  host, 
As  with  glad  banners  to  the  breezes  flung, 

Slow  winding,  o'er  thy  mountain  range  it  cross'd : 
And  thy  wild  air  heard  victor  paeans  sung, 
And  strange  sweet  accents  of  entrancing  tongue. 


1  Alexander  the  Great. 

2  "From  this  point  (Herat),  starting  in  the  end  of  October,  Alexander 
marched  to  the  Kabool  valley,  through  a  country  occupied  by  Indians, 
and  bordering  on  Aracliotia." —  Pkixsep's  Affglianistan. 


302  CAUBUL. 

He  linger'd  not :  the  far-off  fabulous  sea 

He  saw,  and  smiled :  but  Fate  above  him  hung : 
He  fetter'd  all  the  earth,  yet  was  not  free : 
All  nations  bow'd  to  him  —  he  bow'd,  O  Death,  to  thee. 


VI. 

And  ages  pass'd  away  like  dreams  :  till  soon 
A  victor  footstep  trod  those  hills  once  more. 

'Twas  night ;  and  lit  up  by  the  silver  moon, 

As  streams  a  torrent  from  the  hills,  stream'd  o'er 
Wild  children  of  the  barren  Scythian  shore. 

Ah !  woe  for  those  who  on  the  vine-clad  plain 
Sleep  on  unconscious  as  they  slept  of  yore ! 

Death  wakes ;  and  echoing  to  the  skies  amain 
Is  heard  the  shout  of  nations  —  "  Hail,  great  Tamerlane ! " 


VIT. 

Yes !  such  have  been  the  tempests  that  have  pass'd, 
Ye  Affghan  heights,  across  your  crests  of  snow, 

Or  like  the  rushing  of  the  nightly  blast 
Swept  by  in  wildness  and  in  wrath  below ; 


CAUBUL.  303 

Yet  there  unchanged  amid  the  troubled  flow 
Of  time's  wild  waters,  silently  ye  rise, 

And  reckless  of  the  whirlwind  march  of  woe, 
With  that  strange  spirit-voice  that  in  ye  lies 
Hold  mystic  communings  with  yonder  starry  skies. 


VIII. 

1  Perchance  ye  are  whispering  how  in  Caubul's  vale, 
Erst  bloom'd  the  flowers  of  Eden  pure  and  wild, 

How  waters  gush'd  from  springs  that  could  not  fail, 
And  earth,  in  one  bright  infant  dream  beguiled, 
Beneath  the  smile  of  heaven  look'd  up  and  smiled. 

Oh,  why  o'er  time's  dear  ocean  rise  to  view 
The  monuments  in  crime  and  bloodshed  piled  ? 

Why  seem  the  waters  with  oblivious  dew 
Too  oft  to  hide  from  sight  the  beautiful  and  true? 


1  u  Hindoo  and  Persian  traditions  go  so  far  as  to  state  that  the 
progenitors  of  mankind  lived  in  that  mountainous  tract  which  extends 
from  Balkh  and  Affghanistan  to  the  Ganges.  .  .  .  And  the  river  Pison  of 
Scripture  is  said  to  compass  the  whole  country  of  Havilah,  and  Havilah 
is  supposed  to  be  Caubul."  — Atkinson's  Preface. 


304  CAUBUL. 


IX. 


The  curtains  of  the  past  are  round  me  closing ; 

I  may  not  lift  them  more :  all  silently 
Behind  its  vaporous  folds,  in  death  reposing, 

The  by -gone  ages  slumber.     But  for  me 

An  island,  loveliest  of  the  deep-blue  sea, 
In  beauty  smiles  far  o'er  the  ocean  foam  : 

Mine  heart  goes  out  towards  that  fair  countree, 
Thoughts  o'er  a  thousand  long-loved  landscapes  roam, 
A  thousand  spots  are  dear  ...  it  is  my  island-home. 


x. 

And  can  it  be  her  wondrous  destinies 

With  yours,  ye  Eastern  regions,  are  inwove  ? 

Lo !  cradled  in  the  storms,  and  under  skies 
Cloud-robed  and  starless  ever  forced  to  rove, 
Her  infant  empire  with  the  tempests  strove :  — 

Heaven  had  not  will'd  its  shipwreck  —  for  the  shroud 
Of  Superstition  o'er  that  land  above 

Hung  shadowing ;  so  the  East  in  silence  bow'd. 
And  Britain's  banners  waved  triumphant  through  the  cloud. 


CAUBUL.  305 


XI. 


1  Chill  sweeps  the  night-blast  o'er  the  Affghan  hills : 
No  eye  that  sleeps  in  CaubuPs  walls  to-night ! 

None  talked  of  home :  a  strange  foreboding  fills 
The  hearts  of  all,  and  many  an  anxious  sight 
Looks  forth  upon  the  darkness,  where  the  bright 

Far-flickering  watch-fires  blazed ;  some  trembling  lay 
All  night  within  around  the  camp-fire's  light, 

Some  on  the  rampart  wait  in  dark  dismay 
The  morrow's  blood-stain'd  march  —  the  awful  break  of  day. 


XII. 

The  mother  look'd  upon  her  babe,  and  sobb'd ; 

The  husband  clasp'd  his  wife,  his  breast  was  torn 
With  anguish,  and  with  grief  past  utterance  throbb'd,  — 

He  knew  what  horrors  she  must  pass  at  morn ; 

Youth  wept  there,  with  her  sister  Beauty,  born 


l  The  night  before  the  British  troops  left  Caubul  on  their  retreat  has 
been  selected. 


306  CAUBUL. 

Like  her  for  sunshine,  now  like  her  in  gloom ; 
And  innocent  childhood,  as  in  playful  scorn, 
Smiled  on  them  both,  but  all  its  rosy  bloom 
Chased  not  from  heavy  hearts  the  morrow  and  the  tomb. 

XIII. 

Slowly  morn  flush'd  the  mountains.     Hurriedly 
The  mingled  host  of  women,  children,  men, 

Those  ramparts  left,  and  left  them  but  to  die. 
Oh !  bear  the  gentle  gently.  Hark !  again 
The  war-cry  of  the  treacherous  foe  —  and  then 

Death  in  its  countless  forms  beset  their  road, 
Till  corses  throng'd  each  deep  and  rocky  glen ; 

And  where  the  wilds  of  snow  with  slaughter  glow'd, 
All  crimson'd  oh  its  path  the  icy  torrent  flow'd. 

xiy. 

'Twas  scenery,  too,  where  Horror  sat  sublime : 
The  bleak  hills  rose  precipitous  to  heaven ; 

And  up  their  snow-clad  sides  the  mists  did  climb, 
Sole  wanderers  there,  and  by  the  wild  winds  driven 
Ilover'd  like  spectres ;  through  the  rocks  were  riven 


CAUBUL.  307 

Dark  chasms,  that  echo'd  to  the  torrent's  voice, 

Where  never  pierced  the  stars  of  morn  or  even  ; 
No  life,  no  light  the  wanderer  to  rejoice, 
But  gloom,  and  doubt,  and  death,  the  region  of  their  choice. 

xv. 

And  through  these  gorges,  that  in  darkness  frown'd 
When  o'er  them  stretch'd  the  deep-blue  summer-sky, 

'Mid  snows  and  wintry  storms  their  pathway  wound, 
The  dying  and  the  dead — and  none  pass'd  by 
To  fold  their  mantle  or  to  close  their  eye. 

Foes  lurk'd  by  every  secret  cleft  and  cave, 

And  to  their  fire  the  sharp  rocks  made  reply  — 

One  short  stern  death-knell  o'er  the  fallen  brave 
There  in  that  awful  pass,  their  battle-field  and  grave. 

XVI. 

And  deeds  were  done  of  pure  and  high  devotion, 
Deeds  of  heroic  fame  —  but  where  are  they 

To  tell  their  story  ?  —  like  the  gloomy  ocean 
Strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  nations,  far  away 
On  stranger  hills  their  mouldering  corses  lay  ; 


308  CAUBUL. 

One  only  struggled  through,  exhausted,  pale, 

The  sole  survivor  of  that  proud  array, 
And  death  and  fear,  at  his  most  ghastly  tale, 
Cast  slowly  over  all  their  shadowy  silent  veil. 

XVII. 

Chains  for  the  brave,  and  solitude  and  sorrow  ! 

Ay,  prison-hours  for  gentler  beings  too  ! 
Oh !  they  were  faint  for  freedom,  and  the  morrow 

Never  seem'd  dawning  on  their  night  of  woe : 

Young  hearts  were  there,  and  tears  would  sometimes 
flow, 
When  faery  home-scenes  crowded  on  their  view, 

Clad  in  unearthly  beauty,  for  the  glow 
Of  love  still  seem'd  to  light  up  all  anew, 
And  faith  that  leant  on  God  in  suffering  proved  most  true. 

XVIII. 

Love 1  is  a  lamp  on  tossing  billows  cast, 
Yet  many  waters  cannot  quench  its  flame ; 

1  "  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither  can  the  floods 
drown  it."  —  Solomon's  Song,  viii.  7. 


CAUBUL.  309 

Love  is  a  bark  adrift  before  the  blast, 

Which  still  rides  struggling  on  through  taunts  or  fame, 
Amid  the  floods  unchanging  and  the  same ; 
For  love  hath  music,  music  of  its  own, 

(Though  none  have  whisper'd  whence  those  harpings 
came,) 
Which  vibrates  with  a  strange  mysterious  tone 
Upon  the  ear  of  him  who  weepeth  all  alone. 

XIX. 

On,  brothers,  to  the  rescue !     See,  they  come 
With  floating  pennons  and  undaunted  pride, 

And  victor-shouts  and  roll  of  martial  drum ! 
Alas !  within  those  defiles  scatter'd  wide 
Their  brethren's  whitening  bones  are  now  their  guide : 

Woe  for  the  sod  beneath  their  chargers'  feet ! 

For  Spring  with  trembling  hand  hath  drawn  aside 

(Wont  to  disclose  a  thousand  flowerets  sweet) 
The  fearful  veil  of  death  !  a  shroud  !  a  winding-sheet ! 

xx. 

Their  camp-fires,  in  the  dark  of  night's  repose, 
Far  glimmering  in  the  pass  below  did  gleam 


310  CAUBUL. 

Like  the  stars  burning  o'er  them,  till  to  those 
Lone  watchers  on  the  mountains  war  might  seem 
But  the  dim  splendors  of  a  phantom  dream. 

On,  brothers,  on !  nor  pause,  nor  rest,  nor  sleep 
By  cavern,  pine,  or  rock,  or  torrent-stream, 

Nor  linger  o'er  your  comrades'  bones  and  weep, 
Till  victors  yet  once  more  through  Caubul's  gates  ye  sweep ! 

XXI. 

And  what  of  those  who  pined  in  gloom  the  while  ? 

No  victor  armies  their  deliverers  were ; 
But  God,  who  heard  from  their  far  native  isle 

The  mourner's  sobbings,  and  the  Sabbath  prayer  * 

Flow  for  the  captive  and  the  prisoner, 
Threw  open  wide  their  prison-gates  ; 2  and  she 

Who,  angel-like,  stood  weeping  by  them  there, 


1  The  Sabbath,  prayer :  "  That  it  may  please  Thee  to  preserve  all  that 
travel  by  land  or  by  water  .  .  .  and  to  show  Thy  pity  upon  all  prisoners  and 
captives."  —  The  Litany. 

2  "  Fortunately  discontent  prevailed  among  the  soldiers  of  our  guard, 
and  their  commandant  began  to  intrigue  with  Major  Pottinger  for  our 
release.  A  large  reward  was  held  out  to  him,  and  he  swallowed  the 
bait.  The  Huzarah  chiefs  were  gained  over,  and  we  commenced  our 
return  towards  Cabul." —  Eyre,  p.  316. 


CAUBUI..  311 

Immortal  Love,  sprang  o'er  the  billowy  sea, 
And  stole  into  our  homes,  and  whisper'd,  "  They  are  free." 


xxir. 


312  CAUBUL. 

Dawn  in  far  prospect  on  my  tearful  eyes, 
And  from  on  high  come  trembling  through  my  soul 

Waves   of  sphere-music,  dream-like  melodies, 
Chasing  life's  myriad  discords :  earth's  control 
Is  passing  from  me  now :  celestial  scenes  unroll. 

XXIV. 

Yes  !  o'er  those  wilds  shall  flow  pure  crystal  fountains  — 
Fountains  of  life  divine,  and  love  and  light : 

How  beautiful  upon  thy  morning  mountains 

Stand  messengers  of  peace !     The  shades  of  night 
Are  passing,  and  disclose  on  every  height 

The  standard  of  the  Cross ;  for  God  hath  spoken, 
And  gleaming  through  the  storm-clouds  softly  bright, 

Far  o'er  the  hills,  in  beauty  all  unbroken 
The  Gospel  rainbow  writes  its  own  transparent  token. 

Trinity  College,  1845. 


OESAR'S   INVASION  OF   BRITAIN. 

"  His  ego  nee  metas  rerum,  nee  tempora  pono  : 
Imperium  sine  fine  dedi." 

Hail,  solitary  Rome  :  amid  the  tombs 
Of  ages,  and  the  monuments  that  lie 
Strewn  far  o'er  the  wild  howling  waste  of  time, 
Thyself  by  cloud  and  tempest  not  unscathed, 
Thou  risest  proudly  eminent :  of  gods 
And  godlike  heroes  thou  the  haunt  and  home : 
Nurse  thou  of  kingliest  spirits :  who  vouchsafed 
Few  words  but  deathless  deeds ;  who  scofTd  to  write 
Their  records  on  the  perishable  scrolls 
Of  man,  fast  fading,  likest  to  the  beams 
The  sun  imprints  upon  the  transient  clouds 
Of  evening  ;  but  with  conquest's  iron  pen, 
The  world  their  tablet,  carved  that  history  out 

14 


314  c^esar's  invasion  of  Britain. 

On  Eastern  coasts  and  Western,  South  and  North, 
On  trackless  seas,  and  lands  long  lost  in  night, 
On  wrecks  of  empires  and  on  hearts  of  men. 
Strange,  awful  characters  !  which  dark  decay- 
Hath  not  as  yet  effaced,  nor  chance,  nor  change, 
Nor  storm,  nor  ruin,  nor  the  tide  of  years, 
Though  ever  chafing  o'er  them.     Ne'er  before 
Saw  earth  such  gloomy  strength,  nor  ever  since 
Its  like  hath  witness'd :  —  the  last  awful  form 
1  Of  human  might,  in  dimmest  lineaments 
By  God  foreshadow'd  :  warriors  they,  who  reck'd 
Of  nothing,  or  of  God  or  man,  save  strength. 
And  they  were  strong,  strong-hearted,  strong  in  arms. 
Earth  stood  astonied  at  the  sight.     No  lapse, 
No  break,  no  faltering  in  the  dreadful  march 
Of  those  stern  iron  conquerors.     On  they  strode, 
Like  men  of  fate,  trampling  beneath  their  feet 
All  other  names,  all  other  destinies, 


1  "After  this  I  saw  in  the  night  visions,  and  behold  a  fourth  beast, 
dreadful  and  terrible,  and  strong  exceedingly ;  and  it  had  great  iron 
teeth :  it  devoured  and  brake  in  pieces,  and  stamped  the  residue  with  the 
feet  of  it."  —  Dan.  vii.  7. 


CjESAR's    INVASION    OF    BRITAIN.  315 

Like  dust  before  them.     Throned  on  her  seven  hills 
Rome,  inaccessible  herself,  beheld 
Pier  sons  go  forth  to  battle,  and  her  glory- 
Quenching  all  meaner  lights,  and  scattering  far 
The  darkness  of  unnumber'd  years :  as  when 
The  sun,  at  his  Almighty  Maker's  word, 
First  in  the  everlasting  vault  of  heaven 
Hung  pendulous,  and  from  before  him  drove 
The  waves  of  Chaos,  and  tempestuous  night, 
Rolling  in  billowy  surges  ever  back, 
Back  to  their  own  abysmal  shoreless  void, 
From  his  celestial  presence.     Time  roll'd  on, 
And  still  with  time  thy  glory  brighten'd,  still 
Thine  empire  grew  with  time.     The  nations  saw, 
And  trembled ;  and  the  silence  of  thy  might 
Seem'd  to  their  ears  oppressive  eloquence 
That  none  might  interrupt :  when  thou  didst  speak 
Thy  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  startled  world, 
With  lightning  gleams  of  steel  accompanied, 
And  flashes  of  swift  vengeance.     Awfully 
Peace  brooded  once  more  over  weary  lands, 
And  weary  hearts  too  smiled.     But  round  thy  skirts, 
Clinging  like  night,  dark  masses  of  dark  clouds 


316 


Hung  yet,  and  mantled  in  their  giant  folds 

The  vast  Unknown  beyond,  though  voices  thence 

Came  sometime,  dimly  muttering  wars  and  woe. 

Such  was  the  gloom  that  hung  around  thy  shores, 
Albion,  and  shrouded  from  the  spoiler's  eye 
Thy  forests,  and  far  mountains,  and  green  vales, 
And  rocky  fells,  and  rivers  fleet  and  free :  — 
They  knew  thee  not  how  beautiful :  when  known, 
Dark  desolation,  like  a  haggard  dream, 
Stole  o'er  the  sunshine  of  thy  countenance, 
And  scared  thy  smiles,  and  left  thee  pale  and  wan, 
A  widow  and  a  captive.     Ah,  not  thus 
Whilom  thy  children  chased  their  forest  prey, 
Or  roam'd  the  morning  hills,  by  streams  that  spake 
Of  light  and  freedom,  to  the  fetterless  winds 
Responsive :  or  at  eventide  not  thus 
Were  wont  to  linger  on  thy  cliffs,  where  last 
The  golden  sunshine  slumber'd,  till  the  stars 
Came  forth,  upon  their  vigils  dawning :  bright 
They  seem'd  as  spirit-eyes  and  pure,  wherewith 
Thy  Druid  bards  enlink'd  all  earthly  things 
Aforetime,  by  wild  legendary  lore : 


Caesar's  invasion  of  Britain.  317 

Not  thus  the  reckless  warrior  grasp'd  his  spear, 

Or  freeman  spake  to  freeman.     But  when  thou 

Didst  tremble,  it  was  not  beneath  the  eye 

Of  tyrant  man ;  but  at  those  awful  powers, 

Who  ever,  as  thy  fabling  prophets  sung, 

Dwelt,  mystery-clad,  in  mountain,  vale,  or  cloud, 

Or  ocean  pathway,  tabernacling  there 

As  in  meet  home,  whose  voices  might  be  heard, 

Whose  foot-prints  traced  by  wrecks  o'er  sea  and  land, 

What  time  the  thunders  roll'd,  or  lightnings  gleam'd. 

Those  mystic  days  were  number'd.     There  was  one 
Who  long  had  trodden  on  the  earth,  as  treads 
The  eagle  on  the  gory  plain  it  spurns, 
Whose  kingly  heart  was  gasping  for  great  deeds, 
Deeds  that  his  right  hand  taught  him,  and  whose  eye 
Drank  from  the  nightly  stars  heroic  thoughts, 
And  dreams  of  high  achievement.     Warrior  king ! 
Thy  mother  city  knew  thee  when  a  child, 
And  proudly  knew  thee,  nursing  up  thy  soul 
For  glory :  the  snow-crested  Apennines, 
The  Alps  far  mingling  with  the  clouds  and  skies, 
With  their  clear  glaciers  gleaming  to  the  moon, 


318  (LES  All's    INVASION    OF    BRITAIN. 

Knew  thee :  Germania's  forests  knew  thee  :  Gaul, 
Vine-clad,  and  water'd  by  a  thousand  streams, 
Maugre  her  fierce  defenders,  knew  thee  well, 
Great  Caesar,  weeping  that  she  could  not  find 
Thy  peer  :  and  now  upon  her  vanquish'd  shores 
Deep  musing,  having  march'd  with  lion  springs 
From  conquest  on  to  conquest,  thou  dost  cast 
Long  glances  o'er  the  twilight  ocean  waves 
Upon  that  land  of  mystery,  that  lies 
Far  in  the  blue  horizon  dimly  seen. 

Some  talk'd  of  merchandise,  and  pearls,  and  wealth ; 
Of  trophies  and  of  triumphs  some;  and  some 
Of  battle  spoils  and  blue-eyed  maidens  fair 
To  grace  their  homes  far-distant,  thoughts  whereof 
Clung  to  their  rugged  hearts  ;  a  new  strange  world, 
Some  whisper'd,  lay  before  their  path,  whose  sky 
At  dead  of  night  was  flush'd  with  gorgeous  flames 
And  rushing  meteors,  and  whose  only  bound 
Was  everlasting  ice  ;  —  enough  for  thee, 
It  knew  not  Rome's  eternal  name  or  thine  ; 
And  it  shall  know  them  straightway,  though  it  learn 
'Mid  dying  throes,  and  though  thou  teach  thyself. 


Cesar's  invasion  of  Britain.  319 

Morn's  silver  twilight  hung  above  the  waves : 
Seaward  the  gales  blew  freshly :  far  aloft 
Clouds  swiftly  track'd  the  sky :  one  single  star 
Still  linger'd  in  the  dawning  east,  as  if 
To  steal  a  glance  at  day,  but  soon  withdrew ; 
The  lordly  sun  came  forth  ;  and  all  was  life 
And  in  the  harbor  tumult :  crowded  there 
Twice  forty  gallant  ships,  and  on  their  decks 
Brave  hearts,  that  burn'd  to  vie  with  Britain's  sons 
In  battle.     Over  them  their  streamers  waved 
That  way  themselves  would  go ;  nor  long  they  paused 
Expectant:  thrice  the  brazen  trumpet  blown, 
Each  galley  loosed  her  moorings  :  one  by  one 
Stately  they  weigh'd  beneath  the  freshening  wind, 
And  the  free  waters  bare  them  swiftly  on 
To  sound  of  martial  notes,  and  aching  eyes 
Gazed  after  that  brave  fleet  the  livelong  day. 

And  deem  ye  that  an  easy  booty  lies 
Before  your  bloodless  arms  ?  or  they  that  throng 
Their  isle's  rock-ramparts,  think  ye  they  have  come 
With  open  arms  to  greet  ye  ?     But  their  chief, 


320  c.esar's  invasion  of  Britain. 

First  on  the  foremost  galley,  saw  their  ranks, 
Death  boding,  and  beheld  the  white  cliffs  crown'd 
With  shields  and  bristling  spears,  and  steeds  of 

war, 
And  chariots  numberless.     Along  the  coast 
Swiftly  they  sail'd,  if  haply  crags  less  stern 
Might  yield  them  fairer  landing,  swift  the  while 
The  Britons  streaming  o'er  the  rocks  and  hills 
Kept  pace  beside,  and  vaunted  death  should  greet 
The  tyrant  and  his  legions,  ere  their  foot 
Polluted  freedom's  soil.     Then  rose  the  din 
Of  battle  :  in  the  waves  midway  they  met 
Rome's  proudest  warriors,  and  the  foaming  surge 
Dash'd  crimson-dyed :  and  scythe-arm'd  chariots  swept 
The  shore  in  unresisted  might,  and  darts 
Fell  ever  in  swift  tempest :  once  again 
In  proud  derision  Britain  shook  her  spear, 
And  bade  them  take,  an  if  it  liked  them  well, 
Such  iron  welcome  to  her  free-born  hills.1 
And  Rome  a  moment  quail'd ;  but 2  one  who  grasp'd 

1  See  Macaulay's  "Lays  of  Rome,"  Horatius,  stan.  xlvii. 

2  "Atque  nostris  niilitibus  cunctantibus  ...  qui  x.  legionis  aquilam 


CESAR'S    INVASION    OF   BRITAIN.  321 

An  eagle  in  his  left  hand,  in  his  right 

A  sword,  cried,  "  Romans,  down  into  the  waves : 

On !  or  betray  our  eagle  to  the  foe  ; 

I'll  on  for  Rome  and  Caesar !  M     Scarce  he  spoke, 

And  from  the  prow  leapt  fearless,  and  straightway 

His  comrades  round  him  throng'd,  and  the  fierce  fight 

Grew  fiercer  'mid  the  angry  tide :  but  still 

The  star  of  Rome  rode  prevalent  in  heaven, 

And  Britain's  sons,  borne  backward  by  the  host 

Of  spears,  and  gnashing  with  remorse  and  pride, 

Fell  from  that  iron  phalanx,  and  Rome's  chief 

Stood  conqueror  on  Britannia's  beetling  cliffs. 

Not  thus  shall  Albion  yield  thee  her  fair  fields, 
Great  Julius,  and  not  thus  beneath  thy  rod 
Affrighted  bow  and  tremble ;  nor  is  hers 
The  arena  thou  must  tread  to  bind  the  crown 
Around  thy  warrior  temples,  and  ascend 
Thine  envious  throne  :  a  few  brief  hours,  and  lo  ! 
Heaven's  tempests,  wild  and  baleful,  thy  frail  fleet 

ferebat .  .  .  'Desilite,'  inquit,  'milites,  nisi  vultis  aquilam  hostibus  pro- 
dere;  ego  certe  meum  Reipublicas  et  Imperatori  officium  praestitero.'  " 
—  CjESAR,  de  Bell.  Gall,  liber  iv.     Cf.  hie  et  passim. 


322  c^esar's  invasion  of  Britain. 

Have  shatter'd,  and  in  haste  across  the  sea 

Thine  armies  seek  repose.     What  though  ere  long 

With  happier  omen,  and  with  prouder  host, 

The  subject  waters  bare  thee  hitherwards 

Once  more  ?    What  though,  through  battle  and  through 

storm, 
And  rivers  running  blood,  and  harvest  fields 
Stain'd  with  the  gore  of  thousands,  thou  didst  press 
On  to  the  heart  of  Britain  ?  what  if  there 
Her  chieftains  bow'd  a  moment  to  thy  rod, 
And  freedom  taught  their  free  hearts  slavish  ways  ? 
'Twas  but  a  moment :  Heaven  had  other  deeds 
For  thee  to  do,  and  other  destinies 
Loom'd  dimly  on  the  future's  clouded  skirts 
Before  thine  eagle  eye.     Nor  didst  thou  prove 
A  recreant.     Fare  thee,  kingly  warrior,  well. 
Go  grasp  thy  regal  sceptre,  go  ascend 
Thy  world-wide  throne !  to  other  hands  than  thine, 
And  years  yet  laboring  in  the  future's  womb, 
'Tis  given  to  bow  beneath  a  Roman  yoke 
Free  Albion's  neck,  and  lead  her  captive  kings 
In  fetters,  and  pollute  her  smiling  homes 


C^SARS    INVASION    OF   BRITAIN.  323 

With  foulest  wrong  and  insult :  bitterness 
All  hearts  possessing :  till  her  warrior  chiefs 
Weep  tears  of  blood,  her  maidens  tears  of  shame, 
And  Britain  writhes  beneath  the  iron  scourge 
Of  conquest. 

So  in  after  days  there  rush'd 
Rude  whirlwind  storms  of  war  and  death  and  woe 
O'er  that  fair  isle,  and  shatter'd  into  dust 
The  blood-built  fabrics  of  an  idol  faith, 
Whereat  dark  centuries  had  labor'd  :  soon 
They  fell  before  those  fierce  avenging  storms, 
Yet  storms,  that  in  their  dark  and  gloomy  folds 
Bare  germs  of  happier  days,  and  dawning  lights 
Of  love  and  mercy  ;  as  the  lightning-gleams 
Course  not  along  the  star-paved  vault  of  heaven, 
But  from  the  earth-born  thunder-clouds  flash  forth 
In  beauty  and  resplendence.     Soon  from  thee, 
My  native  isle,  their  stern  behest  fulfhTd 
The  clouds  of  wrath  and  tempest  roll'd  away 
Dream-like ;  and  following  on  their  wasted  track 
Pure  healing  sunshine,  bountiful  in  good, 


324 


C^ESAli  S    INVASION    OF    BRITAIN. 


Stole  o'er  thy  sorrowing  landscapes ;  and  ere  long 
A  Christian  Church  on  Albion's  shores  arose, 
And  pointed  to  the  skies,  and  call'd  the  stars 
To  witness,  that  in  tempest,  as  in  calm, 
Heaven  works  its  own  eternal  destiny. 

Trinity  College,  1846. 


Cambridge:  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


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